
; ! 




# LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



# 






ie 



I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 



THE 



POEMS 



OF 



D 



UVALL 



J 



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ORTEI^ 






J. 13. BELL & CO., Publishers. 
1875. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in tbe tear 1875, by 

J. P. BELL & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian at Washington. 



BELL, BROWNE & CO., PRINTERS, 
49 Ninth St., Lynchburg, Va. 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY MOTHER, 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED. 



INTRODUCTION, 



In keeping with a time-honored custom, we will detain 
the reader a few moments with an explanation of the book 
he is about to peruse. As Patrick Henry said, " it is natural 
for man to indulge in the illusions of hope," and it is more 
natural still for a writer of books to indulge in the same 
pleasant recreation, for w^e opine but few men enter literary 
life, without having, as they suppose, some data at least 
upon which to base their calculation of success. Further- 
more, it has been truly said that the child of the mind is 
dearer than the child of the body, and we are inclined 
to believe the assertion true. The author, then, ventures 
upon this work with the usual alternations of hope and 
fear ; and while he will be gratified beyond measure should 
he succeed, and disappointed if he fails, he is too w^ell 
aw^are, that whatever the estimate the reading public may 
put upon his work, that it is in the main, too, correct, to 
dispute its conclusions. As to the contents, a few w^ords. 
The reader will find a variety of subjects treated, but the 
author has adopted that mode of versification best adapted 
to express his thoughts and ideas, and in consequence, he 
will not find that difFuseness of style and method, which is 
a distinguishing feature in the works of Tennyson. Most of 
the poems were written under strong conviction, and should 
the energy of the language used at certain passages, 
encroach upon the limits of taste, it is hoped that the 
purity of the motive may condone the want of a true 
regard for that refined and delicate sense. 

With this, w^e commend our undertaking to a generous 
public, ever willing to bestow praise wiien deserved, and 
brave enough to deny it when undeserved. 

THE AUTHOE. 



CONTENTS. 



Narrative Poems. 

PAGE. 

AlphoDso: A Romance in four cantos, - - - - 1 

Eureka, 35 

Richard Yulgiis : A Tale of Modern Society, - - oJ 

The Story of Perditus : A Tale of Real Life, - - GJ 



p 



RiTicAL Poems 



The Millenium, 80 

Art V. Artifice, 130 

Virginia, --T 135 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

The Retrospect, 141 

Imogen, 159 

Some Truths About Lying, 160 

My Ideal, 163 

The Refuge, 165 

To A Little Lady, 167 

A Reminiscence, - - -• 168 

Speculation, 170 

The Drunkard's Lament, 171 

Ambition, 172 

When Hope is Extinguished, 176 

Why I Am Sad, --.....- 176 

The Drunkard's Separation, 177 

Submission, - - 179 

On Leaving Virginia, 180 



VI CONTEXTS. 

The First Kiss, 180 

Twilight, - - - 181 

When Looking on Thee Lucile, 182 

The Methodists, ...-...- 182 

To A Deceiver, - 183 

Tears, 184 

Adieu Romance, 185 

A Vision, 186 

To Lizzie, 187 

The Silent Land, 187 

Metempsychosis — To Lucy, ------ 188 

The Pedagogue's Soliloquy, 189 

Could She Whom I Love, 191 

Contentment, - 191 

Lines To , 192 

Parson Please- All, 193 

Unrest, 197 

Truth, 199 

To Incognita, 200 

Love, 201 

Altho' My Heart, - 202 

Skepticism, 203 

Farewell, for the Words Thou Hast Spoken, - - 204 

In Memoriam, 205 

The Hypocrite, - 207 

Youth, 209 

Death : An Ode to a Melancholy Friend, - - - 211 

Air Castles, 213 

Lines to E, 215 

Music, 215 

Unwritten Sorrow, 216 

My Mother, 217 

Acrostic, 218 

To A Friend, 218 

To Matilda, the Poetess, 219 

Sabbath Evening, 219 



CONTEN rS. VII 

Tbo' Fate Hath Doomed Me, 2-JO 

Night, (In the City,) - - 221 

Last Words, - - - 223 

My Birthday, - 225 

First Love, - 227 

Foe's Soliloquy, 229 

The Belle's Review, 231 

The Beau's Review, -.-..._ 236 

The Story of an Outcast, 243 

Which?, - - - 245 

The Author's First Attempt, 247 

Poetic Difficulties, ----.--_ 252 

The Four Sisters, - - 253 

At First Sight, -..---.. 257 

Lines to A Student, ---_-.. 257 

Mid the Hours Devoted to Pleasure, - - - . 258 

Now and Then, 258 

The Unwritten Thought, 259 

Woman, 260 

Money, 261 

Robert E. Lee, 264 

Lines to Our Poet, Walt, 268 

Success, 270 

To a Noted Philanthropist, 272 

Remorse, 273 

Inherited Sin, .--.----- 273 

Self-Consciousness, - - 274 

Good-Bye, - 275 



Mi^^Un$ §n$m% 



ALPHONSO : 

A EOMAXCE IX FOUR CAXTOS 



Not far from whence, a sweet, majestic stream 
E'er rolls its way in ceaseless monotone 
Thro' fertile fields, where smiling harvests teem, 
Till broad Atlantic claims it as its own, 
Was born and rear'd the hero of my story, 
Obscure, unknown and on no page of glory. 

But e'en in youth he felt the hidden fire 
Of genius, kindling in his eager mind, 
And liv'd in realms, great souls alone desire. 
And beauties saw, where darker souls were blind, 
Fields, fruits and flowers, nurs'd that peculiar flame 
Which men call genius, — a thing without a name. 

In youth he was a strange, abstracted being, 
Dwelling in ideals, beauties only known 
To him, whom Heaven, imparts the longing, seeing 
Of hidden worlds, whose light has never shone 
For souls unworthy, worms may dwell in dust 
But genius never, dwell in heavens it must. 

Oft was he seen, when blazing lightnings jflayed 
In shapes grotesque upon the angry cloud, 
Ascend some steep, or lofty palisade, 
And watch the tempest, the giant oaks that bowed 
Their lofty tops, as though the sight conveyed 
The latent storm, which in his bosom preyed. 



ALPHONSO. 

Oil genius I ! akin to madness as thou art, 

Who, Tvithout rapture, coulcl'st know thine early dream ; 

What, if from madness, but a hair's breadth apart. 

Who knoweth but madness may with beauty teem 

The tallest towers are they that soonest fall 

The brilliant mind, — a maniac's for all. 



The lofty mountain and deep ocean nurse 

The soul of genius in its childish years. 

But woman, nay love, commands from it the verse 

That makes it human, baptises it in tears, 

Imbuing it with ecstacy and feeling 

Which Nature has no power of revealing. 

Tis the sad misfortune of poetic minds 
To seek that here, which only dwells above. 
Whose own eJffulgence, but too often blinds, 
And, part creates, the object of its love. 
Till alas; too late, an aching heart must feel 
Ideals unworthy of its balHed zeal. 

Love makes the poet, he cannot exist 
Devoid of all its ecstacy and x)ain ; 
Love is the food on Avhich he must subsist, 
Tis love supplies his sweet inspiring strain. 
Rob him of this and jar and discord swell ; 
His highest heaven becomes his lowest hell. 

Alphonso in his early youth did love 

A being cast, he deem'd in beauty's mould, 

And what earth lack'd he borrow'd from above. 

Till she became the thing his fancy told. 

Poetic minds, despite the sense of sight 

Can frame perfection ; what is wrong make right. 



ALPHOXSO. 

Fair Nature now, at ouce he quite forsook, 
And made a truce witli tiowers, fields and skies 
Save when anon he wander'd by the brook, 
In pensive mood, or such as love supplies. 
All passion, phantasy and fondness hers, 
With all pure thought that early love first stirs. 

Oh, Spirit of Love ! full adequate art thou 

To stir to action powers of the soul. 

To create thoughts, that hence, no more, nor now 

Shall sleep, or brook right reason's stern control. 

An Eden brighter can lovers' mind create 

Than Adam knew ere he received his mate. 



One master-passion of the human breast 
Controls all else as with an iron rod ; 
Like Joseph's sheaf, excelling all the rest, 
They make obeisance to the bosom's god, 
Which rules the mind with more despotic sway 
Than Turkish Sultan or Morocco's Bey. 

Each desire and passion but feeds this flame. 

As lesser streams into the ocean flow, 

Till glory, riches, reputation, fame 

Are thrown aside, if by that fearful throw 

We could attain, by this attain alone 

A dream, perhaps — still what we doat upon. 

Soon to our hero all nature wore 
Another aspect ; fields, flowers, streams and sky, 
Were types of Heaven, seem'd to him far more 
Than senseless things, for lovers' soul supply 
The voids of nature, all must harmonize 
With his imaginings, else the vision flies. 



ALPHOXSO. 

Love cliaDges onr being: tlie hue of LinniaD miuds 

Becomes celestial ; love purifies 

The clross of nature, and the lover finds 

Delights in common place, his fancy Hies 

On wings seraphic, till what is human 

Becomes angelic, and not a woman. 



Alphonso was chang'd ere busy time had wrought 
That change upon his face : such lines begin 
When brows contract with contemplation, thought. 
And furrows mar the beauty of the skin. 
His face was calm, yet in his bosom swell'd 
Intensest agony — a love withheld. 



Oft was he known at even's quiet hour, 
When lov^eless mortals are buried in repose. 
Repair alone to grove or secret bower ; 
For crowds are solitude to him who knows 
The ecstasies of love, a shooting star 
Disturbs his soul as with a sudden jar. 

His love was pure ; aye such a love as spurns 
The base alloy that mingles with the clod, 
A si)ark akin to those that brightly burn 
In hearts seraphic around the throne of God ; 
The hidden source, the golden tie that binds 
In one, the earthly, with celestial minds. 

But ah, how little a cold world can know 

The deep emotions finer minds may feel, 

The joy refin'd, the rapture, or the woe. 

The thoughts of Heaven, that thro' its senses steal, 

Yet know such thrills of joy intense or pain 

Are deem'd as wand'riugs of a mind insane. 



ALPHONSO. 

Passions, contending elements that shake 
The soul of genius, are eccentricities 
To vulgar minds, Tvhose vision cannot take 
A deeper meaning than the multiplicities 
Of outward seeming, measure all mankind 
By compass meant but for a shallow mind. 

Poor World ! wretched, blind and piteous thing, 
To patronize genius while genius holds 
Humanity spell-bound, the only king 
Of Spirit soul and mind, its spirit moulds' 
The destinies of nations : States may fall 
And be forgotten ; it survives thro' all. 

Artists and i)oets lead two lives in one, 

Two worlds are theirs — the one by right divine, 

The other in common, neither can they shun 

The carnal sense, altho' the spirit pine 

In natures noble for the realms of art 

For food to sate the hunger of the heart. 

Ideals are perfect, the mind can frame 
A Heav'n of its own, construct its hell. 
The real tho' can never be the same, 
Perfection never, purposed e'er so well 
Attends the execution some fault will mar 
The finest picture, dim the brightest star. 

The maid Alphonso lov'd — who would not love 

A maid so fair and beautiful as she ? 

All minds that have affinities above. 

And must, per force, ne'er from its spell be free ; 

And altho' small the spark to mortals given, 

'Tis all thev know or ever feel of Heaven. 



ALPHOXS0. 

Alphonso's love was lioly, pure and deep 

As minds poetic never feign but feel, 

A love remember'd even in his sleep, 

Which in sweet dreams did o'er his senses steal,- 

An imi^ress leaving upon unconscious hours 

As dews from Heaven refresh the faded flowers,. 



No manw^alks the earth in solitude. 

For solitude is yet a thing unknown, 

Except in name; for spirits, ill or good. 

Are with us in crowds or when we seem alone. 

Tho' they be hid thro' life from sensual view, 

Are there not times when they can speak to you 



But love alone, for mere created good 
Deprives the soul of power to attain 
This higher sphere and causes it to brood 
O'er fancied ills and self-inflicted pain, 
Or cheats itself with sensual delights, 
Till woman bounds the limit of its flio:hts. 



Ah, had he ne'er from such sweet dreams awoke^- 

It had been well and he had never borne 

The load of sorrow, or with torture broke 

Upon the wheel of fate, nor inly torn 

By the heart's dread demon — a fell despair, 

Which only feels a spirit doom'd to bear. 



Sweet vision of bliss, of sublunary bliss, 

How trusting hearts become an easy prey 

To thy sweet flatteries in a world like this, 

Where naught is sweet save what our souls convey 

From self-built heavens to slake immortal thirst. 

And hunger for fruits sin hath not marr'd nor curst. 



ALPHOXSO. 

But bound iu Love's elysian bauds he lay 
A willing captive, thinking he was free, 
While ev'ry fetter tightened day by day 
With that delusion love alone can see. 
Yet lovers' hopes can swim upon a straw, 
And love can see what reason never saw. 

Perhaps the pangs the spirit torn endures 

In such a state is harder to be borne 

Than pure despair, the antidote that cures 

The sore from which the bandage should be torn ; 

Love, to be heal'd, must have a cruel nurse, 

Sympathy only makes the patient worse. 

Love must be met with love, one cannot quench 
Longings insatiate with sympathy alone ; 
Better the flower we sever at a wrench 
Than pluck it by piecemeal till it be gone, 
'Tis death by subtraction, an instant blow 
Is far more merciful, it ends all woe. 

But deeply, purely as our hero lov'd. 
His was a common fate, he lov'd in vain. 
By love the least a woman's heart is moved, 
Love gains the least what it is wont to gain, 
A mad conceit, oh wild impetuous heart. 
To think that woman is won except by art. 

A woman true is Heaven's richest gift, 
A woman false a ruin and a curse. 
The first can elevate our souls and lift 
Our minds above a darkened universe. 
Up to the throne and bright abode of Him, 
Around whom dwell the glowing seraphim. 



ALPHONSO. 

The darkest story a lunatic can tell, 
Is a blighted love, yet all may not be told 
Unless our eyes could see each secret hell 
Consuming hearts, the dross as well as gold, 
How woman false can rivet, chain and bind. 
And poison the fountains of a feeling mind. 

The deepest minds are those that suffer most, 
The shallow one, not dignified with sorrow ; 
The one allied to a celestial host, 
The other earthy, cannot lend nor borrow. 
Poverty wretched, of life as well as thought. 
Ciphers on life's state standing there for naughts 

There does exist in mind, as well as matter 
Abhorence of nothingness ; so we create 
Where naught exists, and endow the latter 
With functions spiritual, this boon hath fate 
Vouchsafed to minds creative, sea, earth and sky, 
Are more than matter to a poet's eye. 

The mind therefore that sorrow does not sway. 
Nor love excite, nor fame enchant at least, 
Is hardly more, nor scarcely less than clay 
Impress'd by forms methodically pieced. 
And put together, lacking all essentials 
Entitlinfj man to divine credentials. 



•o 



Alphonso's hour had come, the hour when he 
Should speak to one the pathos of his heart. 
When he should seek an humble an humble devotee. 
Devoid of no feeling the immortal part 
Of man's nature cannot feign but feel, 
When brouoht so near to future wo or weaL 



ALPHOXSO. 

But our hero like to some artless cliild 

With the knife of fate in his skilUess hands 

Impetuous, excitable and wild, 

Gashes himself, and sees the silken strands 

Of hope asunder part, and this is life 

To stab our own hearts with a borrowed knife. 



Alphonso fail'd, the maiden was unmoved 
By all that beam'd from his pleading eyes, 
By time alone to eager hearts is proved, 
How vain are all our tenderness and sighs, 
Unless our idol in our feelings share, 
And in our love, a due proportion bear. 

Ko life is perfect that has not met deceit. 
And more is woman lov'd as she betrays 
And her sweet falsities have power to cheat 
The heart of man, still Delilah's now-adays 
Yet swindle man's love : Eve, the first and best, 
Frail as she was, but typifies the rest. 

And whom does woman love ? Let those decide 
Whom stern experience surely guides aright, 
The flashy rake with all things else denied 
Except a tongue, he is the depth and height 
Of her imaginings of an ideal man. 
This may be slander ; deny it if you can. 

This is the usual woman, there are of course 

Exceptions ever to a general rule. 

Such rules us'd only as a last resource 

When press'd in argument, and yet a fool 

May wed a woman of as good a kind 

As the rufi:or'd ojiant in the world of mind. 



10 ALPHONSO. 

But Love — the heaven of the youthful heart, 
The source of sweets, Thee must we deify 
In spite of commou sense, and play our part 
In that wild romance where tear and sigh 
And smile are magnified and made to mean 
Indices of destiny in some trivial scene. 

Love unrequited, bitter are thy pangs 
To youthful hearts, and wrenching at a hlow 
The fairest flower, and in a moment hangs 
The door of fate in face of all below, 
Deem'd earthly happiness, bitter fate indeed 
To one who sees young joy's dream recede. 

Ah, then the forms seem vile of this fair world, 
Save Natures only and a living ray 
Illumines the inanimate, with forms unfurled 
Doth Beauty beam, where once but darkless lay, 
Yet doom'd by fate most cruel and unkind. 
The soul still starves for love it cannot find. 



Yet in all Natures' multifarious forms 

No voice ministers to the soul of man 

Like hers we love, the crash of storms, 

The zephyr's sigh, in turn may serve to fan 

Poetic fire, yet cannot be a cure 

For wounds that wretched hearts alone endure. 



Alphonso's soul became a ceaseless prey 

To melanchol}^, every bird that sung, 

Seem'd chanting a requiem of hope's burial day, 

For but one hope had cheer'd his heart when young ; 

And that was gone, a dark and dreamless void. 

With naught save memory of a love destroyed. 



ALPHONSO. 11 

The saddest sight to see another's joy 
When we are wretched, contrast digs a hell 
That awes the devil, and laughter can destroy 
A man's philosophy, for who can quell 
The demon within us, put to open shame 
By heartless mirth or real, all the same. 

But why repine, the universal soul 

Of Nature only bids man rejoice, 

If in his gay moments, her charms cajole 

And for his sad ones, a sympathising voice, 

It shows a heart untrue, a will perverse, 

Not to he sooth'd by such a genial nurse. 

Then after all, perhaps for whom you sigh 
Sighs for another who does not love her more 
Than she does you, and who could not deny 
Himself of bliss in order to secure 
A lov'd one's happiness, but no one can, 
Unless an Angel, never selfish man. 



But ah ! too deeply had Alphonso loved 
And too unselfishly, no single blow 
Can sever hearts, that spell must be removed 
By time and distance, till the long ago 
Looms up once more, a heaven — not a hell 
And experience tells us that it ended well. 

Yet strange indeed that ever man should yearn 
And sigh for her whose sighs are not for him, 
That he will from each pleasing prospect turn 
To gaze on pictures feelingless and dim, 
Nor snap at once the smallest thread that binds 
The corpse that fate hath fasten'd our minds. 



12 ALPHOXSO. 

More foolish still that brilliant minds are wasted 

In efforts fruitless to win an icy heart, 

'Twere better far love's sweetness were untasted, 

Than for it lose existence' better part ; 

For, after all, ^tis but a dubious chase, 

AVhere oft times worst is he who wins the race. 

And yet despair, ah who can better know it 
Than he alone, whom fate hath made to feel ; 
Untohl b}^ all the frenzies of the poet, 
Language is imi:)otent its horrors to reveal, 
And so to shun and feel that we are free. 
We cling to hope and will not let her llee. 

Of all the strange delusions of our youth 
This is perhaps the strangest of them all : 
That we will shut our eyes against the truth, 
As if afraid that truth would ruin all, 
And nurse love lost as children would a sore, 
Which, to be heal'd, needs but neglect — no more. 

This truth at last llash'd o'er Alphonso's mind, 
And, strange to him, it made his heart serene, 
And made him seek, by leaving hope behind, 
Another joy amid a change of scene ; 
Yet, ere he left, his soul was wont to pour 
This plaintive lay to all he lov'd before : 

" 'Tis sad to know when I am gone 

Thou'lt cease to think of me. 
Of one whose heart was all thine own, 
His dearest thought for thee. 

But when thy heart and hand shall be 

For one who loves thee less. 
Let not one painful thought of me 

E'er pain thee or distress. 



ALPHOXSO. 13 



Tho' to a bleak and barren world 
I turn Avith aching heart, 

With all my heaven in chaos hurl'd 
And pierced with sorrows dart. 



Be thou the joyous maiden still 

Thou wert in hours past, 
My anguish time at length must kill, 

Love but with hope can last. 



Tho' for thy love I would have given 

This dreary world beside, 
My sweetest thought this side of Heaven 

That you would be my bride. 

Twas not thy fault thou could'st not feel 

All I have felt for thee, 
But mine to mourn a baffled zeal, 

For hopes unkind to me. 



Amid a cheerless world shall I 

Be fated yet to find 
That love that beams from woman's eye 

To soothe a darken'd mind.'^ 



CANTO II. 

The love of life is one of nature's laws, 
The fear of death a counterpart to this. 
Which seems to be an intervening clause 
In every way man hath of earthly bliss ; 
For pleasure and pain, nay e'en death and life 
Are terms convertible, so are peace and strife. 
B 



14 ALPHOXSO. 

And what is life? At best to all, not some, 
A few brief years the circle must complete, 
When the warm heart mnst wither and become 
Food for the worms that crawl beneath our feet^ 
And this is life, at least the common lot. 
To breathe, to die, and then to be forgot. 

Yet some, in one, may live out many lives, 
Each part of which would make another's whole- 
They are, to whom, both God and Nature give 
So much of heart, of sentiment and soul. 
Who feel far more, no doubt, within a year 
Than others do throughout a life's career. 

And such are they who win a deathless name 
Yet fail to win what they so madly sought, 
One object loved, and what solace hath fame 
Unshared by those so dear to ev'ry thought ? 
None that we know of save the innate pride 
That we achieve that for which millions died. 

In proof of this immortal Petrarch lives 
Along with Laura, while Byron brightly shines 
And dazzles Mary with the light he gives 
From his own great soul that beams in all his lines. 
Ah, rustic maid, the charms of brawny youth 
Were more to thee than miHitiest fame forsooth. 

<J5 



Our hero again upon the scene appears ; 

But ah, how changed to him the hues of life! 

Scorch'd with siroccos and burning tears; 

Its flowers faded, once with beauty rife. 

All earth a desert, a rude and barren waste 

And i^eopled with phantoms, once for substance chased- 



ALPHOXSO. 15 

The paugs of disappointed love no more 
Did pain his heart, altho' its stings were there, 
For passion's power and ecstasy were o'er 
Since heavenly hope had yielded to despair ; 
And now his mind, like some mad meteor hurled, 
Kan lawless thro' an intellectual world. 



The long exploded systems of the past, 

The boast dogmas of the present day, 

Served but to give his hungry mind repast. 

To be enjoyed, then vilely thrown away, 

A skeptic more by impulse than by reason, 

A heart that fear'd but one thing — that was treason. 

A mental miser he at length became. 
And hoarded learning, alone for learning's sake; 
Aiming, aiming ever, and yet without an aim. 
Careless what course his destiny should take. 
The life he led contain'd no charm or sweet : 
Existence merely — a chain he must complete. 

There are strokes tliat scorch the soul and sear 

The very heart, as lightning doth the tree. 

Depriving its buds the power to appear, 

Much less to bloom where they were wont to be. 

'Tis thus affections, witherd at a blow. 

Decay in hearts where they were wont to glow. 

The mind of man may still expand, create. 
New worlds of thought and systems of its own 
E'en while his heart cannot reciprocate 
These high delights, its one enjoyment gone, 
Can find none other, tho' others could be found 
As sweet as this would he but look around. 



16 ALPHONSO. 

When x>assiou's storm iiatli spent itself in vain, 
And coldness meets its elements of lire, 
Like "barren Avastes that drink the genial rain. 
And yield no fruit, except the thorn and briar. 
The mind recoils upon itself to feel 
The sharpest pangs of its nn pitied zeal. 

The heart recedes, the mind again appears 
To body forth scenes of sublimer beauty, 
Music mysterious in nature hears, 
The full force feels, of doing ev'ry duty 
Despite life's petty ills, subdued by sorrow. 
Strong to prevail o'er what may come to-morrovr. 

A world of beauty, despite what cynics' say ; 

Aye, worthy Him who made andform'd it all, 

Creation's lamp, the glorious orb of day, 

The moon that beams when shades nocturnal fall, 

The starry host. Who is not made to feel 

A sense of beauty o'er his spirit steal ? 

Moments there are, when mortals seem to stand 
Upon the line, the measureless frontier. 
Which bars the earthly from celestial land ; 
Our spirits there, alas our bodies here ! 
But ah, too soon, does passion bubble up 
And senses spoil the nectar in our cup. 

And it was thus Alphonso's mind became 
A part and parcel of all that met its gaze. 
Objects inanimate, with i)hantasy and flame, 
His soul imbued ; not passions sickly blaze. 
The song of birds, the gurgling of the stream 
More potent to move than Avas Love's early dream. 



ALPHOXSO. 17 

And what is poetry ? Easier asked than told, 

A few indeed have its spirit known. 

Some deem it an impulse all uncontrolled, 

The truth of which remaineth to be shown. 

Like other gifts of a celestial source, 

A mortal pride must claim it all of course. 

All men are poets, indeed there are but few 

Who have not felt at times and own'd its flame. 

A difference slight exists between the two. 

Thought may be strong w^hile language may be lame ; 

For natures e'en impassive as a stone 

Have surely once some genuine impulse known. 



The poet's heart is but a pit of flame, 

Like Etna's bosom, boiling when at rest. 

His object never to win a deathless name. 

But vent in song what x)ains him when suppressed, 

Purg'd by the fires that in his bosom prey 

E'en common-place then ceases to be clay. 

And in such moments when the cup of life 
Seems o'er running with delicious nectar. 
Then is the soul of poesy all rife 
With beauteous forms of ev'ry mental spectre. 
Aye nymph and sprite adorn the mental scene. 
And sport and gambol on Fancy's fairy green. 

'Tis then with all her pencillings of flame 
She adds new beauties to each scene of bliss, 
And paints so fair her ideal w^orld 'twould shame 
One dwelling there to say he came from this. 
Thus minds can make a heaven of their own 
And diamonds fashion from mud and stone. 



18 x\.LPHONSa. 

But this alone is not lier fav'rite field, 
She dwells within, as well as flies amain. 
And tho' to her the vulgar heart he steel'd, 
Yet she will rise superior to her pain, 
From gloomy cell or closely guarded prison. 
Earth-shaking speech, to Heaven hath arisen ► 

But genius still may have its kindlings crushed 

By sheer neglect, or bitter, cold disdain, 

But never yet hath man thy spirit hushed. 

Powerless he, its rapture to restrain, 

And thus adown the avenues of time, 

Its spirit speaks in prose, or blazing rhyme. 

No, none can prison the spirits mighty dream> 
Altho' unseen, unread by mortal eye, 
For it can mingle with the rushing stream, 
And blend with all beauty in earth or sky. 
Contriving ever ^mid outward forms to find 
The beauty lost npon the vulgar miud. 

And yet withal may poesy still cope 

With all the passions of the human heart, 

All hues of joy, the rainbow tints of hope. 

And then despair, when hope and joy depart. 

All power to pierce the densities of life 

And see the pearls beneath the streams of strife. 



In ev'ry age her votaries have found 

A fabric this on which to rear their fame, 

For there are thoughts, which in the soul abound. 

Which all may feel and yet but few can name, 

The poet then, but tells what all may feel, 

He must sjDeak out : No poet can conceal. 



ALPHONSO. li) 

To some is given sublimity and power, 

With, tireless wing to soar the heights of song, 

To paint the lightning when the tempests lower, 

Or join the thunder in its mountain song, 

To seize the strains inmiense, that ocean siugs. 

And know their meaning ; these are spirit-kings. 

Of such is he, who feels celestial fire, 
Which but in hearts of higher nature glows, 
And from his soul, a heav'n accorded lyre. 
Come forth such strains, as but his spirit knows. 
On time's threshold, his province is to stand 
To echo back strains from immortal strand. 



There is commingled in the cup of being 
An equal mixture of bitterness and bliss. 
For Beauty's self would pall upon the seeing, 
Were there no contrast found on earth to this. 
The tempest that bends the sturdy oak to earth, 
The lurid lightning and the roaring thunder, 
Were better than dull monotony or dearth 
Of aught that may excite our minds to w^onder, 
Yet who could wish that lovely Natures' face 
Should frown for aye, nor cheer us vrith a smile ? 
Each season serves in its appointed place. 
And hath its charms existence to beguile, 
Nor do Tve lose 'mid Spring of light and mirth, 
The joys of Winter around the blazing hearth — 

It is the poet's privilege to bring 
All scenes of life before the mental view. 
And his own heart, (if he has such a thing,) 
Must oft be wrung, that he may sing for you. 
What are deep feelings but the wells of life. 
Supplying those whose nature cannot know 



20 ALPHONSO. 

What beauties spring from intellectual strife, 
What precious drops are wrung from mortal woe ! 
For Avorcls, no ray of feelings permeate, 
Of lifeless things, are most inanimate. 

Yet some contend that music is the source 
V»^ hence liquid numbers of the poet flow, 
Others say '' Love/' and love of course. 
No minor part can act in scenes below. 
These may excite, (the germ is in the soul) 
The plant to grow, until it doth attain 
A height to Heav'n — its tendrils all unroll — 
Its flowers fall on mountain top and plain. 
For the divine of all poetic art, 
Is that which stays the hunger of the heart. 

Thus thought Alphonso, for such thoughts did give 

His spirit ease or transitory joy ; 

A life most loath'd hath aught to make us live 

One bliss perchance, that nothing can destroy. 

The veriest wretch, in all his rags and dirt, 

A joy nurses that time hath never hurt. 

But Nature's forms lead up to Nature's God 
The spirit thoughtful, seeking thus to find 
That haven of hearts once smitten by the rod 
Of fate most merciless, and the darken'd mind 
Sees light break thro' the bosom of the cloud 
And hears the small voice that speaks to it aloud. 

To our hero mountains and stars became 
The syllables of life, from which e'er long he learned 
To spell man's destiny e'er his heart could frame 
The wondrous thought for which his spirit yearned, 
Holiness, by which, (so says the written word) 
None may see God, the once Incarnate Lord. 



ALPHOXSO. , 21 

No mind is noble Avhicli does not sigh for this, 
No heart is pure whose best emotions rise 
Beneath this thought, the one supremest bliss 
To be conceiv'd by mortal 'neath the skies. 
Such thought best shows, no other proof be given, 
Man is immortal, his lineage sprung in Heav'n. 



Holiness only, since the fall of man, 
Has puzzled hell, Satannic intellect 
Is all eclips'd, and can conceive no plan 
To thwart its force, no cunning to detect 
A single flaw in what was seen and known 
In Mind Almighty, aye in God alone. 

To know of this, not that forbidden tree 
Which grew in Eden, Alphonso pray'd and sighed. 
And sought in books: these seldom leave us free 
From their misgivings, an uncertain guide 
That leads in paths where others have been lost, 
A bark in seas of speculation tost. 



For him the face of Nature wore all moods, 

Yet without charms, as when in musing hour, 

He sought the field or wander'd through the woods, 

Where dulcet notes rang out from branch and bower. 

For this, alas not God's appointed plan 

To bring relief or soothe the soul of man. 



Alphonso was not happy, still his mind 
Would yet revert and conjure back the past 
With life's first joy that time had left behind 
E'er blown upon by Hate's siroccoed blast. 
A change of heart, as well as mind must be 
E'er man can take his place among the free. 



22 ALPHOXSO. 

'Twas vain lie souolit a solace for his soul 
'Mid woods and rocks, or solitary vale, 
The' for tlie mind may Nature's stores unroll, 
Within the heart will sorrow still x^revail, 
So with our hero, who in strains like these 
Pour'd forth his soul alone to give it ease. 

^' My breast is rack'd with many a pang*, 
More keen than poet ever sang, 
Nor can it till compos'd of steel. 
E'er feign a joy it cannot feel. 
The leafless tree, the riven oak, 
Once blasted by the lightning's stroke, 
Might sooner hope to bud again, 
Than my x)oor heart forget its pain. 
For within it I feel a void 
Of ev'ry hope that once employed 
And yet in vain I strive for more 
Than what the vulgar herd adore. 
And yet, alas! what boots that I 
Should strive for excellence or sigh 
For what is noble ; am I not 
^Mid thoughtless throngs obscured, forgot. 
My flowers trampled in the dust. 
My gems consign'd away to rust, 

• My precious thoughts, my golden rules 
Become the laughing-stock of fools ? 
Still in imaginative flight 
My mind shall soar the dizzy height, 
Then look beneath, through fancy's glass, 
In scorn upon the vulgar mass. 
Who scoff because I deign to soar 
Beyond the heights their minds explore. 
Alas ! that on this icy steep 
Where thought alone may deign to sweep, 
No flowers bloom, no linnets slug, 



ALPHOXSO. 23 

No warm, reviving breath of Spring, 

No sympathetic heart to share 

Onr gloomy grandeur or despair. 

Tho' higher natures love to stray 

'Mid blazing stars, or milky-Avay, 

Tho' Genius in its flight can bear 

Our spirits from the spheres that are 

To others built of bright romance, 

Where all things seem but to enhance 

Our high delights, an earthly tie 

Contrives to drag us from the sky; 

For without this would genius be 

Beyond thy pale, Mortality ! 

Nor can all fame or glory give 

That which makes our bliss to live, 

Nor mid its glare cau we forget 

One star of hope that may have set 

In early life to which we gave, 

Our very being as a slave. 

Tho' much mine erring mind hath stray'd 

Thro' light and darkness, shine and shade, 

Tho' much I've striven to forget 

My heart, my heart, is lonely yet.'' 

CANTO III. 

Misguided man, who seeks ethereal bliss, 
Save in communion, with his Maker, God, 
AYanders but blindly from the path of peace, 
Nor e'er returns, till the chast'ning rod, 
Of sore affliction bid his spirit seek 
The Kock of Ages — Tower of the weak. 

For tho' the mountain and old ocean tell 
In eloquence mute, of Him who made them all. 
They tell not man, how he from Eden fell, 
Nor curse attending his nature from the fall, 



24 ALPHONSO. 

Xor e'er yet was man so wise as find 

In nature's book, liis dread Creator's mind. 



The raorn was calm, as morns may be in June, 
And birds sung out from ev'ry brancli and bower, 
And man's dark spirit could mingle and commune 
With Nature's beauty till the silent power. 
Of thought's transfusion, made it all his own, 
Alphonso, (as w^ont) his morning ramble took 
Along the vale, and by the babbling brook. 

Till lost in thought at length, he sat him down 
Beneath the shade of an outspreading oak, 
To muse on man, the hero, king and clown, 
Then of himself, who groan'd beneath the yoke, 
Of one misfortune, aye, that one is sooth, 
Which erst had crush'd the joys of his youth. 

The mem'ry of one, Avhose sweet and guileless face 
Had been his youth's heaven, did meet him there 
In all its beauty, winsomeness and grace. 
With her dark eyes beaming, and her silken hair 
Of auburn beauty, wreath'd yet with flowers 
Himself had pluck'd for her in happier hours. 

The same sweet smile, which once had won its way 

To his once young heart, he beheld again. 

Yet, not as then, he yielded to its sway, 

For it was steel'd by agony and pain. 

Which mean experience, taught him now to shun, 

Or be suspicious of all he looked upon. 

.Just then a sound borne softly thro' the air, 
Dissolv'd the spell which was around him thrown, 
A sound that call'd to penitence and prayer, 
A Sabbath bell, whose sweetly solemn tone 



ALPHOXSO. 25 

Seem'd apropos to that sad train of thouglit 

With ^vhich his heart and mind alike were fraught. 

Yet, e're he left the consecrated spot, 
While his soul was kindled with poetic fire, 
To her, not then, nor now, nor e'er forgot 
He struck this music from his spirits' l^'re. 



'^ REMEMBRANCE." 

'• Sweet Lady, believe me, time cannot destroy, 

Thine image of beautj' on my soul deeply wrought. 
But still it remaineth diifuslng its joy. 
On the track of each bodiless thought. 

Long since have I ceas'd both to sigh and repine, 

For a love, which you cannot return. 
But alas, when I look at that dear face of thine, 

Love still in my bosom will burn. 

Tho' my beautiful Eden is denied me by fate, 

And bade me its pleasures to sever, 
There's a measure of bliss could I stand at the gate 

And gaze on its beauties forever. 

When my last sands of life shall be ebbing forever, 
May thine image, sweet Lady, to my spirit be given. 

That its last glimpse of beauty, as it passes the river 
Shall be kindred to that w^hich shall meet it in Heaven." 

An humble fane, that pious hands had reared. 
Stood in a grove, hard by Alphonso's oak, 
From which came forth the sounds he lately heard. 
And which unwitting, his reverie had broke, 
He listen'd and heard in measur'd cadence roll 
Hymns sweet because the language of the soul. 
C 



'26 ALPHONSO. 

Aud ceasing this, be heard the voice of prayer, 
No solemn mouthing, sanctimonious phrase, 
Instructing God to witness and compare 
Their saintly lives, with such as spend their days- 
In sins rebellious, not this our hero heard. 
But God's own promise in his written word. 



Strange, yet true, that trifles in themselves 
Are oft precursors to results as great 
As any found by him who toils and delves 
In the deep mines of thought to expurgate, 
By rugged logic and argument, forsooth, 
The dross of error from the gem of truth. 

The warm, untutor'd language of the heart 
Deals unbelief a more disastrous blow 
Than weighty words of controversial art. 
Wherewith men strive to prove a God or no, 
That proof at best lies hidden in the heart. 
And trifles make it into action start. 



He whom the voice of Nature had not taught 
The way of life, nor theologian wise, 
The utmost limits of permitted thought, 
Now found it in forests, where prayer could rise,^ 
From hearts untaught, except that God is good ;; 
This is enough to save a world, and should. 



Alphonso like, the wearied dove of old. 

Had found no rest, and so had sought in vain 

Thro' many creeds, in which he had been told 

Were antidotes for all of earthly pain. 

But found as others, who seek in stalls aud shelves^ 

Books mostly plead the uierit of themselves. 



ALPHONSO. 27 

The Spirit's sword soon pierced liim to the heart, 
And God's own truth was fasten'd in his mind ; 
Still man may shun e'en Heaven's appointed dart, 
And force his way to hell, perverse and blind, 
Lose endless life, lose Heaven, all thiugs, and choose 
Eternal torments than life's pleasures lose. 

Not so with him who both had seen and tasted 
The best and worst that is to mortal given, 
Nor one who felt life's sweetest i^rospect wasted, 
For him to seek 'mid ceaseless iiain his ]ieaven, 
Nor vent his soul in misanthropic spite. 
While realms remain, where all is love and light. 



And ere the sun that late in beauty rose. 

Had sought its couch, the bosom of the deep. 

Did love divine, like that a seraph knows 

Shine in his soul and made his spirit leap 

From dark misgivings, oh, glorious thought ! 

To certain hope, and God the change had Avrought. 



He is free alone, whom the Word makes free, 
God by wisdom to man may not be known ; 
Nor all thy systems, proud Philosophy, 
The path to bliss to him hath never shown, 
But endless maze, in speculation lost. 
Until the line that bounds our fate is crossed. 



But what is true worship ? Does it depend 
On attitude or else some form or rite, 
Whereby the knee of man is made to bend. 
His eye upturn, each act devout, contrite ? 
Ah, no, the prayer that best ascends to Heaven, 
Is that to which no utterance can be given. 



28 ALPHONSO. 

The thirst and hunger of the human heart 
For what is good or beautiful or true : 
Purging man's nature from its baser })art ; 
Filling his soul to act as angels' do, 
Union mysterious with God's Anointed Son, 
In Heaven completed, yet on earth begun, — 

No human weakness can impair its strength, 
Tis built on God and he upholds it all, 
The sceptic's sneer to horror turns at length, 
The jesting scoffer reads upon the wall 
His fearful doom, ^* I am the Way, the Truth, 
Co-equ%l with God," — his very Son forsooth. 

It was thus our hero felt and thought, 
Despite what those who wed to form might sa}^ ; 
Again his heart, by deeper feeling wrought, 
Essay'd to sing this bold yet humble lay : 

" TRUTH." 

''If the doctrine be true, which the orthodox hold. 
That sin is pernicious to the life of the soul, 
Then truly the pathway of life is all hidden, 
Since the spirit still craves what it feels is forbidden. 
Great God of all Truth from blindness relieve me. 
From creeds and confessions that may but deceive me, — 
Thou hast left me the volume of Nature to scan. 
And the Book of all Truth, not the doctrines of man. 
These taught me the only true pathway to bliss 
Was acceptance of that or rejection of this, 
Made me to beliave that what I had done 
More precious to thee than the blood of thy Son. 
Tis a proneness of all in the weakness of youth 
To believe all the errors that are taught them for truth. 
Thou hast given to mortals no power to bind 



ALPHONSO. 29 

Or sbackle thine image, the fetterless mind, 
Thoii dwellest in temples not made with the hand, 
But alone in the sanctified spirit of man. 
Forgiving all deeds we have wickedly done 
And making us stainless in the blood of thy Son, 
I feel all the service thou demandest of me. 
Is to worship in spirit, which is kindred to thee. 
The day is not distant in which he shall tremble 
Once wont in thy presence to cloak and dissemble,, 
The short-sighted creatures who strove to conceal 
Their rottenness moral by a show of false zeal, 
That glance in moment sees eternity through, 
Be certain, oh false one, ever looking on you, 
From deception, hypocrisy and the nature sin gave me, 
I beseech thee, Oh Father, to snatch me and save me. 
Preserve me, sustain me, and appoint me to stand. 
At the Day of all days upon thy right hand." 

Alas! in this enlightened day of ours 

Too many yet to senseless forms are wed, 

Forms are but weeds that choke life's fairest flowers. 

And yield no fruit but briars in their stead. 

If man must wrangle, why not wrangle more 

For truth than robes that Paul or Peter wore ? ^ 

No one is free, for doubts alike will prey, 
Like gnawing worms, at any root of faith, 
Which some mistake for holiness, decay. 
To pressure yield and then are swept beneath ; 
Approach the city until its gates are seen, 
Then backward turn if doubts but intervene. 

The man of God must ever be prepared, 
And o'er himself incessant vigils keep. 
Hug no delusion, tho' by millions shared, 
A shepherd knowing aright to guide his sheep. 
The mind, once bound in superstitions bands. 
Is like an infant in a giant's hands. 



30 ALPHOXSQ. 

CANTO IV. 

It is not good that man should he aloue, 
Almighty Wisdom, when he made him said, 
And eras present, and all the ages gone 
Attest this truth, in the heginning said : 
For since Pere Adam took Mother Eve to wife-, 
Tis imj)lied censure to lead a single life. 

Man left alone is far more desolate 
Than even woman ; she contrives to find 
Some good excuse for such a loveless fate, 
She could not see one suited to her mind ; 
He saw a dozen, mayhap lost them all 
By leaving till Spring the event of the Fall. 

Books, friends, for a season may heguile his hearty 
And cheat it a moment to forget its sorrow, 
But bliss attends no servile trains of art, 
Man^s mind or heart no outward ease can borrow, 
^ But in itself alone can hope to find 
The image pleasing that soothes a darken'd mind 

Still man may live all reasonably well, 

Until at length the ideal hour is past, 

When sighs have ceased to own some silly belle, 

And real woman asserts her sway at last, 

And when, too late, the tables may be turned 

And he loses rightly what he may have spurned. 

Creation's lords, at best, are but a part 
Of a common unit much as they may swell 
Out of proportion : this is only art ; 
Woman knows this, indeed she knows it welly 
And can contrive some way to coax and cozen 
And gull your lords by units of a dozen* 



ALPHOXSO. :U 

The lilly pale that blooms iu lone retreat 
Soon fades away in short-lived beauty there ; 
Denied the dew, the fructifying heat. 
Breathing from birth a pestilential air, 
So human hearts, denied the light of love, 
Lose that existence God gives them from above. 

More so, when one hath r)our'd his soul in vain, 
As water lavished on the fruitless sand, 
And thorns alone are products of his pain. 
Or nettles thrive where flowers hoi)'d to stand, 
Each heart requires some feeling soul to share : 
Pain loses weight when there are two to bear. 



Yet after Love, one thiug remains to stir 
The human heart, man's own created god, 
Ambition — dreams that high-born minds x^refer 
To vulgar pleasures of the senseless clod. 
And this belongs to that imperial few 
Whose darkest deeds seem grandly glorious too. 



But let not him, of all, presume to judge, 

By his own gauge, who ne'er goes beyond 

The dusty roads, Avhere sweating millions trudge. 

Nor envy him, whose mind and heart hath spurn'd, 

All vulgar things, for some are born to sway, 

While others rise by learning to obey. 



This prompting too may be no base desire ; 

Xo sinful motion of a wicked heart ; 

Xo carnal passion, no unhallow'd fire ; 

But that which moves to take a higher part, 

In life's endeavor, than listlessly to wait, 

And catch at straws, or else be drown'd by fate. 



32 ALPHONSO. 

But to its own, where it of right shoukl be, 
The mind will tend, and there delighted dwell, 
In its element only is genius free, 
All others are prisons or a loathesome cell, 
Where all deprived the power of its wings, 
It loathes, not loves, the sight of vulgar things 
And thus Alphonso, chafing with desire. 
Enslaved by want and visited with wrong 
From many a source, again took up his lyre 
And pourd again his sadden'd soul in song : — 

'' OBLIVION.'^ 
"Am I, beneath the lonely mound, 
To moulder nameless in the ground. 
Nor let a record here remain 
That I have liv'd altho' in vain 
Nor carry to my dreamless bed, 
No form on which my fancy fed ? 
Shall all the hopes of former years, 
Joys that shone thro' sorrow's tears, — 
Shall love, celestial in its source, 
Acknowledge death's relentless force ; 
Shall hope recede, be felt no more, 
When once the fitful dream is o'er ? 
Or shall the senseless clods that fall 
Upon my coffin bury all ? 
Tho' flowers bloom upon my grave, 
And bending cypress gently wave. 
Whose pendant branches swept by air 
A ceaseless requiem sing me there ; 
Or little bird within the bower. 
Above me sing at even's hour. 
Yet w^ho would deign a tear to shed 
Above the soon forgotten dead, 
Rememb'ring naught that he hath said 
Or done for good of human kind; 



ALPHOXSO. 33 



Aye, to a common lot consigned, 
Forgotten, dead, and ont of mind f 
Altho' ray sonl I feel to be 
A spark of immortality, 
Fain would I live when I am dead, 
In deeds or words that I have said. 
An honor to my race and name, 
The parent stock from whence I came, 
Like Scotia's Burns with magic art 
To stir the fountains of the heart, 
Or Byron, whose imperial soul 
Broke thro' all fetters and control. 
Oblivion, oh thy dreadful name, 
Whose waters quench tlie spirit's iiame, 
That word can dig a deeper hell 
Than even wrath divine would tell. 
E'en here thy horrors seem to chill, 
The spark that ocean's cannot kill; 
Sulphureous horrors milder seem 
Than such as hang o'er Lethe's stream. 
Oh, Soul ! arise, assert, and claim 
Thine inheritance of fame ; 
Breathe forth the fires in thy breast, 
In lurid flame, if suit thee best. 
Or pour thy numbers as the shower 
That beautifies the field and flower ; 
Or vent perchance the bosom's spleen, 
In satire edg'd, sharp and keen. 
All things, save to dullness wed, 
To sink amon^: the nameless dead." 



o 



There is nothing so wounding to a woman's pride, 
As thoughts of yielding her love unsought ; 
And yet all other, tho' it be denied. 
Deserves not the name — love is not bought ; 
Nor fashion'd in beauty as a thing of art, 
But beautiful only when it owns the heart. 



34 ALPHOXSO. 

Love is not voluutary ; 'tis a fall, 

Or tlie soul uplifted by a secret x>ower ; 

A love explaiu'd is no love at all, 

Rob it of mystery it does not live an hour. 

Love, Genius and Madness are near the same, 

The mind on fire, the heart a i^it of llame. 

And Friendship and Love no relation bear 
Or near connection as the vale and hill. 
For cannot lovers even malice bear; 
Aye, hate each other, and be lovers still ? 
And whereas Doubt is ever Friendship's knell, 
'Tis true love's proof^(fond lover mark it well.) 



Our knowledge most from contrast is derived, 

AVho, with all daj', would ever darkness know ; 

So love forever, of a doubt deprived, 

Soon loses force : ^tis doubt that makes it so : 

For doubt is but twin-sister of desire, 

The fuel that feeds our faith's refinine: fire. 



'Twixt hate and love is but a step between. 

Or rather in essence they are the same, 

Like the viewless borders which intervene 

'Twixt light and darkness, when the dying flame 

Of day departing, mingles into night. 

Till the line is lost, dividing dark and light. 



A maiden lovely in spirit as in form, 
A Star of Beauty with no borrowed light. 
Arose at length and bade at once the storm 
Be past which preyed upon our hero's sight. 
With her he wed, liv'd happy with his bride, 
Were lov'd by all — lamented when they died. 



EUREKA 



TO MY FRIENDS, THOMAS W. TIMBERLAKE AND LADY. 



EXORDIUM. 



While others sing of Grecian Isles, 
In strains that ev'ry heart beguiles, 
How warriors fought and cities fell 
For Helen, false and fickle belle ; 
How Miltiade's army stood 
A bulwark to the Persian flood, 
And rolPd it backward, as the tide. 
That madly smites the mountain's side. 
Let sterner mind its thought employ, 
With Marathon or burning Troy ; 
Let these and mightier themes belong 
To Homers of immortal song ; 
Let Miltons with angelic eye. 
Behold the battles of the sky. 
Or turn with equal sweep and tell 
The secrets of the lowest hell ; 
Let Swifts and Butlers ridicule 
The knave and Puritanic school ; 
Let Byrons in the realms of rhyme 
Make darkness light and lust sublime ; 
Mine be the sweeter task to trace 
The giant footsteps of the race, 
And sing in unmistaken tone 
Of great creations, not my own. 
I to others leave the task 
Vice to denounce : I only ask 
The God of Song that he imbue 



36 EUREKA. 

My spirit with the good and true ; 

To open up a brighter way, 

That leads from darkness into day, . 

To break the fetters that control 

The life and freedom of the soui, 

This be the noble aim to-day 

That prompts me to this crude essay. 

EUREKA. 

I. 

In days remote there dwelt amain, 

A mortal deemVl by some insane ; 

A man from lowly parents sprung, 

To whom no titles did belong, 

Whose youth was spent, as he was poor, 

In driving famine from his door. 

No events mark'd his early years. 

Except the sports which youth reveres ; 

No meteor shot athwart his sky. 

To pall his sense or dim his eye ; 

Yet in his soul there dwelt a tire, 

Unquench'd by lust or low desire, 

Which mov^d his mind to enterprise 

By paths unseen to others' eyes. 

The giddy throng that moves below 

Such mines of thought can never know, 

But is content to live and dwell 

Around the door of wisdom's cell. 

It sees, alas ! but darkness there, 

Where dwell the stores of beauty rare. 

The gems of truth that brightly shine, 

And beckon on with light divine, 

Are but as pearl before the swine; 

And truths' wrench'd up from error's main, 

B}^ busy thought and aching brain, 



EUREKA. 37 



By efforts cf the mightiest mind, 
Are thrown as chaff before the wind. 
Not thus the man of other days, 
With spirit kindled at the blaze 
Of inspiration sent from Him, 
Who made the glowing Cherubim. 



The merest trifle often brings 
A glimpse of most surprising things. 
And truths and facts of wondrous worth 
To them alone oft owe their birth. 
An apple filling to the ground 
Prov'd all things to one centre bound ; 
A kettle boiling on the lire. 
Which shook the lid as if with ire, 
Prov'd what had been before a dream. 
The strength and majesty of steam. 
No flight of fancy could have told 
How planets in their orbits rolPd ; 
No madman's brain, however great. 
Could e'er have found snch strength in heat 
There must be long, laborious thought, 
When once the chain is fairly caught. 
And link by link severely wrought, 
To forge the links of evidence. 
Beyond the ken of common sense. 
The powers of the master mind 
Shirks not the labor of this kind. 
Perceptive powers made to pierce 
The secrets of the Universe, 
In trifles small obtain the key 
To all of Nature's mystery. 
That opes creation's vaults to see, 
The hidden wealth of mind and thought. 
Where dunces quake and see but naught. 
Nature crowns such sons of hers 
D 



38 EUREKA. 

Her genuine interpreters, 

And these are they Avhom God cousigns 

To manifest the light that shines 

O'er all his works, and roll away 

The stone where buried wisdom lay ; 

For every twig, and leaf, and flower, 

Are tokens of design and power ; 

Aye, ev'ry blade of grass that grows, 

Examin'd well, some knowledge shows. 

The veriest insect that can crawl, 

Tho^ infintessimally small 

To human optics, yet portrays 

That Wisdom rules in all his ways. 

The varied faculties of man 

Were given him to probe and scan. 

With reason giv'n to deduce 

Their several jDurposes and use. 

'Twas thus the mighty Newton told 

How planets in their orbits roll'd ; 

By this a Fulton learn'd to team 

A vessel drawn by steeds of steam ; 

Thus Franklin, with his paper kite, 

Disgorg'd the clouds' electric light, 

And gave to Morse, by more than half, 

His idea of the telegraph. 

The idea first on Nature's page 

Is seen by philosophic sage, 

Theory next is brought to view, 

Then practice comes, and all is true. 

What gives to some such mental power 

To pierce the mists that 'round them lower f 

Is Being's scale exalted so, 

That few may rise where others go ? 

It is because we shrink from thought, 

In seeing Nature as we ought ; 

Or, with that taraeness which subdues,. 



EUREKA. - 39 

What reason and what judgment choose, 

With soul and mind to dullness wed 

We sink among the nameless dead. 

Not thus the man of olden time, 

With spirit full of thought sublime, 

By deep research and reason clear 

Had found the earth indeed a sphere. 

'' If this he all of it," said he, 

^' How wide is yonder rolling sea V 

The man of olden time, we said. 

Did wear no crown upon his head, 

His sway was of a nobler kind 

Than mere brute force ; he was design'd 

A prince indeed, in realms of mind. 

And gifted with a faith that dared 

To hope where others had des]3aired. 

In early youth he lov'd to roam 

Far from his poor, yet sunny home ; 

Upon the heaving ocean's tide 

Was his delight and joy to ride. 

Nor carelessly and uuconcern'd 

But ev'ry page of Nature turn'd, 

As in her volume he discern'd 

That mighty truth whose ray of light 

Turn'd night to day, made darkness bright ; 

That shook all preconceived belief 

And vaunting savans brought to grief. 

Convinced that it was true, he brought 

His theory before the Court ; 

And ne'er before did kingly ear 

A tale so strange receive and hear. 

II. 

What realms of beauty are unfurl'd 
In that one word— another World ; 
What visions crowd before the eye, 



40 EUREKA. 

Of fields and flowers, fruits and sl^y ; 

Of rivers laving, fertile x>lains ; 

Of waving fields of golden grain ; 

Of beings of celestial mould 

Whose beauty mortal never told! 

Wbat balmy sweets perfume the air ! 

What strains of music floating there ! 

Such dreams as this and thoughts sublime 

Did urge the man of olden time 

To dare the perils of the wave, 

Where spooks and horrid monsters lave : 

Their "slimy sides '^ and " bar the way," 

As ancient tars were wont to say. 

The haughty monarch, with a sneer, 

Bade him begone; he could not hear 

A tale so wild, nay even thought 

Derangement all the scheme had wrought. 

'^No more," quoth he, "demented man. 

All common sense rejects thy plan. 

A poet's most ecstatic flght 

Did never soar to such a height. 

Nor his imagination swept. 

So wildly even while he slept. 

Another W^orld ! There is but one 

Beyond the sphere we dwell upon. i 

I have no vessel which can bear, 

Nor aught to waft thy spirit there. 

My ships have plough'd th« briny main 

In search of land; the search was vain. 

The sea is but a liquid hell, 

Where sjjooks and horrid monsters dwell ; 

Dismiss thy visionary scheme, 

As shadows of an idle dream." 

'Tis thus the vulgar mind is prone 
To judge all others by its own. 



EUREKA. 41 



Nor deem that deeper minds may scau 
Beyond their own contracted span ; 
Whose o^yn, enamoured of its ease, 
But clings to what it feels and sees : 
Contented with the dusty way, 
That millions plodded ere its day ; 
Unknowing genius can create, 
And people realms and worlds innate ; 
Nor that its eagle eye discerns 
Those very realms for which it yearns ; 
Nor that its wing can cleave their way^ 
Thro' mists of folly in its day ; 
Nor that its soul was sent from Ilim 
Who made the glowing Cherubim ; 
That it, per force, must upward rise, 
Unhappy save in native skies. 
No wonder then such minds explore, 
And create worlds not seen before, 
Since dunces rule and fools obey 
In that wherein their bodies stay. 

III. 

Oh ! Woman, made alone to bless 
Humanity in sore distress, 
Thy glory runs commensurate 
With man in destiny or fate ; 
Thro' thee the man of mind prevailed 
While vaunting savans him assailed. 
Let future cynics who would vex 
Their souls about " the weaker sex," 
Think of all worlds so far as known. 
She figures first, as facts have shown, 
And hath by virtue of her plea 
Of innate curiosity, 
Aton'd for more than half the bell. 
Accruing: since her Mother fell. 



42 EUREKA. 

At last our hero steers amain 

The trackless paths of ocean's plain, 

So far as human eye could pierce, 

Appeared a liquid universe, 

Yet firm he stood, nor him subdue 

The menace of the craven crew, 

Who begg'd him with beseeching cries, 

His course to steer for native skies. 

The leeks and onions sweeter far 

To theni appeared than glory's star ; 

A life of ease, a death obscure, 

A body rich, a spirit poor; 

Grant such but these, they ask no more. 

But more will nobler natures crave 

Than earth can give, or ever gave ; 

The beautiful, the true, the just, 

Such things as seldom dwell in dust. 

Born to command, he kept them down, 

As best he might by smile or frown. 

Or sought at times to stimulate 

Their sense of pride, one thing innate, 

At least in human kiud, without 

One single cause to bring about. 

The malefactor, thief and liar. 

The vilest wench whom rakes admire, 

Can all else bear, all else condone. 

Their pride you must not trample on 

Relentless Tyrant, without tears 

For any of thy worshippers ; 

In vain the agonizing waist 

To half its usual size comprest ; 

Poor toes that wanting room ride double, 

He only laughs at all your trouble. 

And thus doth silly pride pervert 

Our very virtues ; we exert 

Our starving souls to feed on wind 

And leave the nobler things behind. 



EUREKA. 43 

IV. 

Here, Reader, let thy fancy stop 

With Moses on the mountain top, 

And view with him the goodly sight 

Of Canaan from the mountain height. 

Yet deem not Moses stood aghast 

At Tvhat before his vision pass'd, 

For he, the first of mortal race, 

Had talk'd with God, as face to face, 

While all around the mountain shone 

Celestial light from Heav'ns throne, 

And little beauty earth e'er brings 

To him who sees celestial things. 

Then turn to him who now surveys 

The mighty dream of other days. 

But real now, thyself imbue 

With what he felt at such a view. 

Ah ! tell me not of battles won ; 

Of deeds that were by valor done ; 

Of braying bugles that proclaim 

Achievement of a mighty fame ! 

Alone in some neglected spot 

A sister weeps for brothers not : 

Torn in instant from her side. 

The husband from the tender bride ; 

A Mother's wail ascends the sky — 

^' My Son, my Son : alas, to die I 

Sole object of declining years. 

No triumphs stay my burning tears ; 

While booming guns commemorate 

The victory, I mourn thy fate." 

Not thus with him who steer'd amain 

The pathless waste. No sense of pain 

Disturbs his soul as he surveys 

The sight whose smallest glimpse outweighs 

The days of darkness, hours of pain, 



44 EUREKA. 

When supplication seem'd in vain, 

When sceptred dullness blocked the way 

That made the darkness into day ; 

No more the agony severe 

Of hope deferr'd from year to year, 

But feeling such as angels might 

E'en envy tho' in Heaven's sight : 

Tis past, at length they saw the shore 

No Eastern eye had seen before ; 

From ship to ship the accents fly — 

^' Land, Ho ! Land, Ho ! ! " as ev'ry eye 

Was strain'd as tho' it would defy 

The sense of sight, nor yet believe, \ 

So loth is Dullness to receive 

The truth ; but soon the very shore 

Heaves into sight — they doubt no more. 

Their curses into praises turn. 

Of one whom late they wish'd to spurn^ 

And men, all mutinous before. 

Then knelt his pardon to implore. 

Oh! wretched World, indeed thou art 

A syren in thy very heart. 

The child of genius, when unknown. 

In asking bread receives a stone ; 

Yet turn at once in fame complete 

And pour thy treasures at his feet ; 

A smile, a token, or a nod. 

Ye reverence as ye would a god 

From one perhaps who oft before 

Was rudely driven from your door. 

Or made the butt of ridicule. 

By stupid ass and silly fool. 

Whose sole invention to annoy 

Those whom their wit cannot destroy. 

The calm is sweet when storms are gone,. 
The darkness ushers in the dawn. 



EUREKA. 45 



As tbro' the gates of death and pain, 
The soul reuiouuts to life again. 
So now the long expected hour, 
That ushers in the day of power, 
When genius shall confirm its sway, 
With beams of intellectual day ; 
Not like some baleful comet hurl'd 
Thro' space to awe a guilty worUl ; 
No meteor in whose flashes shine 
Malignant light, or fell design ; 
But like the clear, resplendent sun, 
That gladdens all it shines upon ; 
That thaws the rills and frozen lakes 
And in Dame Nature's womb awakes 
The germs of life until they burst 
The bonds, and at her bosom nurs'd, 
Expand, adorn and beautify 
The field, the forest, and the sky. 



The night was dark, the sky was black 
With tempest, waves were giving back 
The whispers of the viewless wind. 
The watchful petrel sought to find 
A refuge where her fragile form 
Might shun the fury of the storm. 
Who e'er hath at midnight stood 
By window looking to the wood. 
And watch'd of all sublimest sight 
A tempest gath'ring in the night ? 
Hath seen when lurid lightings broke. 
The figure of the gnarled oak. 
Of verdue stript, devoid of bark. 
Its naked limbs white, stifi", and stark, 
Stretch'd out as if to supplicate 
The God of storms to spare it yet. 



46 EUEEKA. 

The lofty poplar's stately head 

Moves nervously as if the dread 

Of sudden ruin lurk'd apace 

To hurl it from its rooted place. 

With sudden scream the startled bird 

Flies vrildly from its nest ; the herd 

Of lowiug kine with tail distent 

Around the compassed fold lament. 

The snorting steed the scene excites 

To use his heels in circling flights, 

Till suddenly, when all is still 

Except the growling of the rill, 

Disputing with a stubborn stone 

That blocks its pathway to the throne 

Of ocean's empire — till a flash 

Of blazing lightning with the crash 

Of loudest thunder seems to shake 

The pillars of this globe opaque. 

Then comes the fiercely driven rain, 

Like pebbles rattling on the pane ; 

While flapping blinds, as swift they veer 

On rusty hinges, fright the ear 

With sudden knocks as if they were 

Flung madly with the storm-king's might 

At him who dares look on the sight. 

A moment more the windy hell 

Is at its height. Sulphurous smell 

Impregns the air as if the cave 

Of hell itself the odor gave. 

A flash I — behold the gnarled oak 

Is riven by the lightning's stroke ; 

While concomitant thunder shakes 

The solid earth itself, and makes 

Cups click as if a drunkard's ghost 

Were striking them proposing toast. 



EUREKA. 47 



An hour past, and all is still 

Excei)t the roaring of the rill, 

Evincing anger or surprise, 

Or joy at its sudden size ; 

And rolls exultingly along, 

And vents its joy in its song. 

The massive clouds are pil'd away. 

But still the zigzag lightnings ]}lay 

In sportive shapes upon their breast 

Till finally they sink to rest. 

Then star by star peeps out to look 

Abash'd on scenes their light forsook. 

Pale Luna brightly shines apace 

As if the rain had washed her face ; 

The air is redolent with sweets 

Of battered roses, whose retreats 

The ruthless storm-king swept among. 

And from their fragile tendrils wrung. 

The lily pale from off its stem, 

And rose to deck his diadem. 

Torn nature smoothes her wrinkled brow 

And silence reigns supremely now. 

This seen, at once forsake the shore 

In fancy for the ocean's roar ; 

Be present, in the tempest share ; 

Behold the darken'd skies prepare 

For battle, see the black array 

Of angry clouds, the vaulting spray, 

That like a giant, leaps on high, 

To bid defiance to the sky. 

The sails are flapping like the wings 

Of Angels, or mysterious things. 

As if they were enjoin'd to swell 

The chorus of the liquid hell. 

The groaning bars and shrinking beams 

Grate harshly on the ear, and teems 



4S EUREKA. 

The deep with monsters' horrid forms^ 
That are not seen except in storms. 
The creakino: cordage adds its mio;ht 
To swell the chorus of affright ; 
Imagine next the human freight 
Of agony, bewailing fate, 
Imploring ev'ry patron saint, 
Or rushino; wildlv makin^: feint 
Of self-destruction yet refrain 
And cowards turn and hope again. 

* * * :^ 7f Tf # 

The calm is sweet when storms are gone, 
The darkest hour proceeds the dawn — 
And when he mounts with dripping wings, 
Most glorious of created things, 
The king of day, the storm is spent. 
And clouds are swept in banishment. 

VI. 

Ashore I the night's disaster past. 
The promis'd haven reach'd at last! 
All that was madness just before 
Is genius now, and none forebore 
That tribute to superior mind, 
That men acknowledge when they find 
They must, if not become by rule, 
Themselves the butts of ridicule. 
A rugg'd path is his to tread, 
Who is by inspiration led ; 
The thorns of envy and deceit 
Must pierce his unprotected feet. 
His aching heart no solace know 
From those above, nor those below ; 
Above the hiss of ridicule. 
Beneath the hootings of the fool, 
And as he probes the rotten core 



EUREKA. 49 

Of systems false, at least a score 

Of Blanches, Trays, and Sweethearts yelp 

Most piteously to spare their whelp ; 

The storms of calumny and wrath 

Frown blackly o'er his lonely path ; 

Malicious wit exerts its best 

To pluck a feather from his crest; 

While ostentatious dullness bars 

His upward bent and thanks its stars 

That it was born without the curse 

Of insanity — or worse. 

Quacks, charlatans and parveneus 

All band together, lest they lose, 

As did their type, Demetrius, 

The sacred art of cheating us. 

Whilst others, as he strips the skin 

That asses hide their ears within. 

Look on it as a deadly sin. 

Thus throughout life creative mind 

Must battle fiercely with its kind, 

To die at length (too oft the case) 

In cold neglect, or worse, disgrace, 

While critics fatten on the spoils 

He leaves behind of all his toils, 

Extol the genius that could dare 

To tread where weaker men forbear, 

And in his ev'ry feature find, ^ 

(By some cheap picture left behind) 

The traces of a giant mind. 

These, and no doubt a thousand more 

The hero of ''Eureka" bore, 

Yet lovely woman, be it said. 

That he was from thy bounty fed. 

And Isabella shares the fame 

That clusters 'round Columbus' name. 



50 EUEEKA. 

YII. 

THE MORAL OF EUREKA. 

Since great Galileo began 

The idea of the wondrous plan, 

How worlds revolv'd and planets steerd 

By settled laws that have not veei'd, 

From orbits fix'd a breadth of hair, 

Your would-be wits have not been rare^ 

And shallow critics raised a shout 

At things they nothing knew about, 

Incapable of comprehension 

And destitute of all invention, 

Have made themselves but silly asses, 

To him whose mind their own surpasses. 

So far the contrast would provoke, 

Such laughter as the gods would choke, 

And genius must at all events 

Crack first the skull of common sense, 

To make more room, ere it begin. 

To let a genuine idea in, 

So must it also overturn 

Another's hobby ere it earn 

Its meed of praise, as if the field 

Of science were not made to yield 

Its hidden store for all that seek, 

Be they Scythian or Greek ; 

Yet genius neither recks nor feels 

The little curs which snap its heels. 

Earth ever had two doubtful chaps 

Call'd ''Peradventure" and ''Perhaps.*^ 

Tho' bad enough, yet they are better 

Than stupid dullness, their begetter; 

These, ever since they first existed. 

Had knotty brains which doubt had twisted, 

And so since man was first created ^ 



EUREKA. 51 

This twain, tbo' superannuated, 

Have hard heads still, tho' thej^ should be 

As *' soft as mud f for blows you see 

Have fall'n on them thick and fast. 

And *' Progress" knocks them down at last. 

These be the little wits that give 

Their firm opinion that we live 

In a degenerate day, and mourn 

The " good old days " when hay and corn 

Brought better prices, nay they deem 

The Devil first invented steam. 

The roaring engines that propel 

The cosy car, first us'd in hell. 

That on3 in league with Lucifer, 

A patent got to use it here. 

Think of it ye plodding fools, 

Who hamper genius with your rules, 

How on a time in conclave met 

A w^ould-be knowing pious set, 

With solemn mien and scowling glance 

For one who ventur'd to advance 

An idea, which ai)proving time 

Them dunces prov'd, and him sublime. 

Look at your brethren as they sit 

Thro' centuries, the butts of wit, 

And, worse by far the ridicule. 

That arms each atheistic fool. 

Who by a sally or a point 

Knocks all your Scripture out of joint. 

And cut your doctrines half in two 

By witticism or box-mot. 

^ * 7f * * ♦ 

It is the proof of master mind. 
To see where others are but blind ; 
To travel tracks before unknown, 
To create systems of its own. 



52 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 

To doubt all tliin<^s till proof be sbo\Yii ; 

To sbatter creeds or systems built 

On superstition, error, guilt, 

With conscious rectitude of aim, 

To bear the brunt, despise the shame, 

That open warfare ever makes 

When it the props of error shakes. 



RICHARD VULGUS, ESQ. 



A TALE OF MODERN SOCIETY 



Sir Richard lived up town — that is to saj^, 

A denizen was of ^' Fifth Avenue,'*' 

To social heavens this is the proper way. 

The way quite oft to Purgatory too. 

As Richard's youth with poverty was cursed. 

Perhaps he had his purgatory first. 

Sir Richard was descended from a class 
CalPd poor, but honest ; their history 
Cannot be known, therefore we let it pass 
Just as we would another mystery ; 
Suffice to say, his lineage began 
Somewhere in the history of man. 

Sir Richard's Father made no pretension 
To gentle blood, lived and died contented 
At boiling soap ; this is no mean invention. 
For vulgar blood, which cannot be prevented, 
Does not affect the skin ; but good old soap 
Will cleanse a rascal and benefit a Pope. 



RICHARD YULGUS, Esc^. 53 

rerc Ricliard gatberd, by "diut of hook and crook,"' 

A tolerable fortune from soap and suds, 

Yet never dream'd bis bopeful Son would look 

For rank and station along witb other " bloods." 

He was mistaken : parents mostly are, 

In leaving offspring witb too great a share. 

His Father left, as we have said above, 
His riches to his Son, enough to start 
An enterprising man, (we always love 
To specify) this is the mystic art 
That makes a poet ; but it suits us here^ 
To use it in making our story clear. 

Sir Richard's youth Avas spent among the rabble. 
With no refinement save what comes of soap, 
His good old Perc no penchant had to dabble 
In classic streams, had read no lines in Pope, 
Nor known of Milton — crazy George the Third, 
The only King of which he ever heard. 

But Richard was an economic man, 
His wealth expanded in proportion too ; 
By perseverance in the proper plan, 
He soon became as rich as any Jew, 
And this of course was followed by eftects 
Which prudish poverty ne'er once suspects. 

Our hero's wife was of the common run 
Of ordinary women ; very fond 
Of telling husbands all things should be done 
In full accordance with, though not bej^ond. 
Their proper limits — this is what she meant : 
Soap boiling was no office for a gent. 



54 RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. 

We forgot to notice an essential 
Fact, which may be relevant just here, 
One often pays for being deferential ; 
Silence has cost some novel-makers dear, 
When they are forced to thrust upon the stage 
Some one not mention'd in a former page. 



The fact in question, Richard had been blest 
With pledges maternal — a Daughter, Son. 
AVe mention this because we deem it best 
To aid the story we have just begun. 
These little things all help us to evolve 
The social problem we are now to solve. 

Sir Richard was unletter'd, never had 
A literary turn ; above we said, 
His was indeed a most illiterate " dad,-' 
Soap fill'd his purse and occupied his head. 
His Son, of course, regarded with suspicion. 
All learning foreign to his dad's condition. 

This being so, by no means does it follow 

He was a fool because he had no taste 

For literature ,* some heads are hollow, 

Or empty rather, though they have been graced 

With varied learning. Of all the fools, 

He is the worst who issues from the schools. 



What native spark he may have had at first 

Is smother'd and extinguish'd, sterile land, 

By being cultured but becomes more curst, 

And erudition one cannot command 

Is worse than none, an over-loaded cart. 

That stands stone still, or breaks down at the start. 



RICHARD VULGUS, Es(^ 

Pardon this digression, if it can be 

A sin to pardon when we step aside 

To pluck an apple, (an idea from the tree 

That is ^^ outre mer,^) still it may decide, 

Cut short, or snap the thread of narrative. 

And not be worth the trouble that we give. 



But ^Uiu revo'w P^ Sir Richard, we have said. 
Was a man unlettered ; that is no matter, 
For one may have high notions in his head 
To dip his spoon into the social platter, 
'^ Top of the pot," the precious '' upper ten," 
Who order fashion, while they ruin men. . 



The women, (and kind Heav'n help them all,) 
This weakness have much greater than the men ; 
^^ Elite soirees ^^ and a selected ball, 
Their summits of ambition: the sword and pen, 
Belong of course, (and who would wish to hinder,) 
To bipeds only of another gender. 

Now, Madame Vulgus, pining day by day . 
To leave the suds for good society, 
Essay'd her lord, a woman has a way 
Of doing all things with propriety, 
Her reasons are ingenious ; they can steer 
Twixt Charybdis and Sylla without fear. 

The weakest point their eyes are sure to see, 

Then pour on this their concentrated force. 

Till stupid husbands cannot find a plea. 

And then — ''Yes, Dear, it shall be done of course." 

Her warfare is unceasing. Who could find 

A safe retreat if woman had a mind ? 



56 EICHARD YULGUS, Es(i. 

Sir Richard sold his vats, his own good will 

And bought a house, as we have said before. 

In fashionable quarters; a bitter pill 

To high-minded nabobs who lived next door. 

What should they do ; turn up their haughty noses. 

And, like a Jew, swear — " in the name of Moses.'' 

A Music Teacher— salary immense, 
None need apply w ho cannot also bring 
The best of reference, as the expense 
Is not an item, — taught to play and sing 
A girl and boy, — call at ten o'clock 
At Number , in front of Astor's block. 



This the denoumcnt, a needy creature 
To train young hopefuls ; the curtain rises. 
The scenery was charming, ev'ry feature 
Partaking of refinement, sweet surprises 
Of expectant lovers, all that art could do 

For naked walls came boldly out to view. 

•* 

The little Cupids, all in sportive shapes 
Adorn'd the mantels, marble-tops were laden 
With precious stones, all purchas'd on the capes 
Whence diamonds come from — the earthly Aiden, 
The floor with Turky — while Venetian blinds, 
These beauties hid from vulgar, prying minds. 



The library, too, was royal in its line ; 
Shakspeare in calf conspicuously shone ; 
While Pope and Milton, scarcely less divine. 
Along with Dryden — hundreds more unknown 
To their possessor, grac'd his costly shelv^es. 
Looking like apologies for themselves. 



RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 57 

Creative spirits, only born to shine, 

Consign'd to darkness once unknown to Tlieel 

Oil, Genius mighty ! did thy soul divine 

In what strange company its thoughts should be ? 

Pope's Dnnciad, '^Perditus Paradisus" 

And classic Virgil, ^^ quae numine /ac'.so.s." 



But so it was, Sir Richard was inflated, 

His '' better half '^ was more than half distracted. 

Of course they thought such things were calculated 

To purchase caste : this farce cannot be acted 

Till time shall teach the fashionable arts, 

And make the actors familiar with their parts. 



Madame Vulgus was unhappy, who could be 
In her case happy; fish, themselves, on land 
Were just as likely. Their place a fool can see 
Is water only ; on the other hand. 
When Madame Vulgus left her suds and soap, 
She lost true happiness to live on hope. 

It takes at least a century or two 

For vulgar folk, how^e'er rich they be 

To purge themselves, and act as others do. 

Whose birth and rank have serv'd to keep them free 

From clownishness. All this may seem unjust. 

But so says Nat are, and obey we must. 

She had to steer 'twixt Sylla and Chary bdis ; 
Incontinently curs'd by those forsaken ; 
Some vaguely hinted either that or this, 
Explain'd the reason she her course had taken. 
While those she sought said with strict propriety 
That soap was good, but it was not society. 



58 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 

*' The upper ten," a circle overnice, 
Display'd no sign, no wish, to fraternize, 
But Walpole says that each man has his price ; 
And on this point Sir Walpole never lies : 
Who does it first, ah hereat was the rub 
That kept the rats from jumping in the tub. 



Societj^, like sheep, will hesitate 

To leap a fence — that is the social line. 

Until the leader, without regard to fate, 

Jumps headlong over; they pronounce it '^ fine '^ 

And follow forthwith, each seeming to outvie 

The other's haste ; this no one can deny. 



Death is a leveller, so is monej^, 
Effete aristocrats must all confess. 
That credit has but little ceremony 
For well-bred persons when moneyless. 
The butcher's bill ; a hundred others too, 
Are punctually call'd for, no matter who. 



Admission then among the chosen few 
Was made a matter of pure speculation, 
The women oppos'd it — they always do. 
Then yield and mourn a blighted reputation, 
Yet always have some artifice at hand 
To reconcile the ground on which they stand. 

The bonds are broken, an invite to a Soiree ; 
** Pray what is that? " suggested Madame V. 
Sir Richard does not know ; the teacher may, 
So he is call'd to tell what it may be. 
This being done, the notes of preparation 
Made Richard's house a scene of animation. 



RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. SJ)* 

They must appear of course in a la mode] 

But Madame Vulgus had not studied French, 

Yet she succeeded ; no woman ever showed 

A lack of talent here : a silly wench 

Soon knows for certain what man can only guess, 

The puzzling mysteries of the female dress. 



But Madame Vulgus had her milliner, 
Richard, of course, his skillful tailor too. 
With each of these they mutually confer 
About the work they gave them now to do. 
This being done, when lo, another point 
Contriv'd to knock them both quite out of joint. 

Sir Richard could not read, therefore could not write, 
His better half was like him ; here was trouble, 
An answer must be given this invite. 
Or else a pin would prick the social bubble ; 
Their new born hopes would all at once collapse 
Alone from one, of poverty's mishaps. 

''Call for the teacher," shouted Richard, '' he 

Can settle this, we'll give him extra pay 

To keep his mouth shut." '' What says Madame V. 

Are we to do when he is gone away.'^ 

''The best we can. My Dear; the times demand. 

We use him now, while he is at our hand." 

The teacher came, though seeming somewhat sour, 
These interruptions were not hard to bear. 
Did they not happen a dozen times an hour ; 
The children too, entrusted to his care. 
Grew quite unruly— a thing to be expected 
When left alone, or worse than that, neglected. 



60 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 

A hint is oft the parent of suggestion, 

Suggestion oft a real idea brings, 

And trifles too, (of which there is no question) 

Reveal the way to dark and hidden things ; 

Sir Isaac Newton, gravity and all, 

First found the clue in seeing apples fall. 

We like digressions, though at times they be, 
Both witless and prosy, and yet we know 
The sweetest fruit grows on forbidden tree, 
At least mankind have e'er deem'd it so, 
And sought out paths beyond the beaten way 
That sweating millions plodded ere their day. 

But to the idea, lest we should forget. 
Some private person must at once be had 
To answer billet doux, his son as yet 
Had not lore sufficient to serve his dad, 
Besides a Secretary, no doubt augments 
The social status of all would-be gents. 



Madame Vulgus donn'd her fashionable dress. 
Which barely hid — Oh, well we need not say. 
Her husband gave some tokens of distress. 
And, one may add, a little of disma}". 
He had not learn'd that modesty and sense 
Are now-a-days in the pluperfect tense. ^ 

*' Pray is it modest. Dear, to dress that way ; 
It scarcely hides your person, can't you see ?" 
^^ Don't be so stupid, this is what they say," 
Suggested Madame, ''the elight : thaVs me, 
Would sooner die (now this may seem a joke,) 
If fashion said not, than to wear a cloak." 



RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 61 

Now maD can be a most provoking ass 
In woman's estimation if he choose, 
By interdicting social whims that pass 
For current coin. Why should one refuse, 
Who went so far in fashionable folly 
And thereby make his lady melanchol^'^ ? 

And Madame Yulgus took no middle ground. 

At least in eating fashionable crow ; 

Her husband was of course in duty bound. 

Whether he had an appetite or no. 

But tastes are soon acquired, we may hate 

The very milk that fed our infant state. 

But Madame's turn was next, the swallow-tail 

In due time came, a fashionable cut ; 

Then Madame's tongue, (no woman's tongue can fail 

At such a crisis,) fonnd pretext to put 

Some telling thrusts : '' M}^ Dear, now don't you see. 

If you wear that you should not rail at me !" 



And now on high, the pompous driver sat, 
With whip in hand and ready for behest ; 
A feather grac'd his shining beaver hat. 
While polish'd brass adorn'd his purple vest. 
Emblem mute of patience and of pride 
Or rather hauteur and something else beside. 

Crack went the whip — off went the prancing steeds, 
The shining wheels sang as they whirl'd along. 
O'er cobble stones and up a street that leads 
Right into Heaven — no, that is rather strong — 
But right into the long desir'd spot. 
Where everything but money is forgot. 
F 



m RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 

The trip is up — a stately mansion rears 

A front imposing, which can well compare 

With that of Richard's ; so the Madame fears 

The inside may be better. ^' Whj^ did Richard spare 

A single thing that he was told to buy ? 

He did not know ; " that was the reason why. 

Thus contrast digs, alas, a deeper hell ! 
It caus'd from Heaven the arch-fiend to fall; 
One should content himself in doing well, 
And, having much, not hanker after all. 
But this remark has been in vogue before ; 
We leave it with — Sir Richard at the door. 



Now up the steps with trembling frames they go; 
Ring at the door — look in each other's eyes 
As if some thought were lurking there ; but no, 
Both stood like stones, and neither could surmise 
The other's idea: Richard thought of soap. 
The Madame lost in reveries of hope. 

Obsequious usher, soon in state prepar'd, 
White apron tied around his slender waist. 
Came to the door, and '' Please give me your card 
To take forthwith, kind Sir, to Madame Taste ; 
Your card, you see, once being taken in, 
Where I leave off the Madame will begin." 



Sir Richard was dumbfounded, gave a look 
At Madame Yulgus, more than seem'd to say 

*' What shall we do ; have you no hook nor crook 
For this dilemma, you not find a way ?" 
The Madame's cheek was slightly ting'd with amber 
From this detention in an antechamber. 



RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. fi3 

She call'd the driver; he at once obeyed, 

"Go quick/' says she, '^here is an extra quarter, 

And get my cards ; inquire for the maid 

To give them to you, or else my pretty daughter." 

This done, she gave a sigh of sweet relief. 

The waiter starM — this was '^another leaf." 



The driver came Avith the desir'd note. 

Sir Richard took, but did not take a glance, 

And if he had, why since he never wrote 

And could not read — but an unlucky chance — 

The hasty driver had only brought a card 

Which read " R. Vulgus, Dealer in Bones and Lard." 

The waiter took it, this was his duty, 

To Madame Taste. '' A joy forever," 

Says the poet Keats, "is a thing of beauty." 

"This billet-doux, I hope that it may never!" 

Says Madame T. without a thought just then 

Concerning Keats, " confound such vulgar men." 



" Why wife," suggested that unlucky limb 
Of trees parental, call'd in ridicule 
"A doating husband ;" "You remember him 
For whom in special you must drop your rule, 
That honest burgher, who by proper care 
In boiling bones, has been invited here!" 

" Oh, yes ; what shall I say ? This detention, 
I fear, has wounded them," so out she flew. 
"Why, Mrs. V., why did you not mention 
Your name to the servant ? Sir Richard, you 
Should not have been so backward ; don't you see 
How such a thinjr might cause hard thoughts of me V 



64 RICHARD YULGUS, Es( 



la Richard weut, the Madame ou his arm, 
A nervous thrill shot through his stalwart frame, 
The Madame's bosom beat with soft alarm, 
Her cheek at least had lost its amber llame, 
Brought face to face with those iuiperial gods, 
Who hold the science of concjes, bows and nods. 

First, on the right, nbi(initous Grundy sat, 
And next to her the gushing Jenkins gaped, 
Then Miss La Mode, or something else like that, 
All wrapp'd in silks and dress'd in such a shape 
That one would think she carried ou her back 
Enough to lill a first-class peddler's pack. 

And Charles Augustus, he of fragile form, 

With sweet blue eyes and whiskers wax'd with care. 

Who took in youth some maiden's heart by storm 

By his graces only, a thing most rare, 

Unaided by monej-, Charles won his way, 

And married her who was an heiress nee. 



These, in their turn, were each one introduced 

To Richard and his lady, a host of others, 

Mosquitos fashionable, who deduc'd 

A scanty living from their wealthy brothers, 

And sang a ditty like them, to earn a supper. 

Flirt with the girls, and quote some lines from Tupper. 



Poor Richard was silent, he dare not launch 

Into the sea of fashionable folly 

Lest he should flounder, Madame's cheek should blanch 

With fear, as she seem'd quite melancholy ; 

The social whales might swim out in the deep, 

But he and she both near the shore would keep. 



RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. 65 

But Ricbard was no fool ; his common sense 
Avail'd liim more than all the books supply, 
Altho' he knew no past, no future tense 
So far as Murray, yet his mind couhl vie 
In native force with those who can but quote 
Some choice bits that Pope or Dryden wrote. 

This was his mistake, a common error 
To deem ourselves unhappy in a state 
Where fortune plac'd us, or live in terror 
Of foolish laws and seek to regulate 
Our lives and conduct by rules invented 
For fops and asses, and like demented. 



But virtue, true nobility of mind, 

Is not confin'd to excepted classes. 

Nor wit, nor talent do we mostly lind 

Amongst the most aristocratic asses ; 

With few exceptions, all their minds can get 

Within them is, a point of etiquette. 

Simplicity and greatness are twin-born ; 

Gravity in the features of a donkey 

Is most apparent ; a mimic scorn 

Belongs to fops as well as to a monkey. 

Cease talking then about the "social status" 

Till Darwin's apes have ceas'd their grinning at us. 



And we have seen a youth with purpose high 
And noble soul repuls'd with sullen scorn, 
When fops and fools alone were sitting by. 
And made the slight still harder to be borne. 
Yet this is just according to a code 
Made by a few, the brainless a la mode. 



66 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 

Ye precious few, with good opinions laden 
Of your own importance, your highest aim 
Is to seduce some artless simple maiden, 
And then desert her, leave her in her shame 
With no resource but death, or what is worse^ 
To her parents lost — to herself — a curse ! 

And where is he, destroyer of her peace. 

Foul murd'rer ; we will write it to their shame, 

Tis a mark of honor, smiles did not cease. 

Foul as you are, yet still cj^eme de la creme 

Could not afford to lose a shining light. 

Nor part with one whose vices were so slight. 

Abject is he whom that imperious fraud 
Rules like a slave, that soul can feel 
No high delight, true character outlawed ; 
With him 'tis worse to labor than to steal. 
Yet these are they who mould the social state 
AVith unpaid ushers scowling at the gate. 

This is the class whose infinite precision 
In points pertaining to the social scale, 
Have won at least a genuine derision 
From all but fools ; but fools prevail 
In point of numbers : till all such are dead 
It will continue — no more need be said. 

We now return to Richard and his lady. 
See how they act in such a heavy play, 
Light as it seems to one who has already 
Been duly school'd to act the proper way ! 
'Tis heavy work for one whose youth is spent 
Beyond the pale that constitutes a gent. 



RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 67 

Sir Richard Vulgas had not learn'd as yet 
His antecedents were as good as'theirs ; 
Frogs, 2)erc tadpole, would willingly forget, 
But others don't, and supercilious airs 
But counterfeit the real manly mein 
Which upstarts never feel, but may have seen. 



True blood at least is like unto Burgundy, 

The bottles never the taste alone can tell 

The genuine from counterfeit, but Madame Grundy 

Would make believe some fashionable swell 

Of *' gentle blood ^' — Oh, Heaven, save the phrase — 

Applied to snobs in these degenerate days. 

A curse on Darwin, him whose creed unsettles 
Aristocratic faith ; for if his scheme be true 
Mankind w^ere monkeys : here's a theme that nettles 
Our high-born pride ; this thing will never do. 
Unless he prove and demonstrate in shape 
Elite there were among our genus ape. 



'Tis needless to say in all crowds we meet. 
Had we the wish such secrets to unearth, 
Some things were found not positively sweet 
For those too prone to advertise their wortli. 
What odds is it, provided one is just, 
'Twixt hoeing corn or holding worlds in trust ? 



A silent tongue oft makes a wiser head 
So we are told; we will not vouch for this : 
One may be mute and silly too, we read 
Some choice proofs how one can judge amiss. 
Still Richard and Madame had enough tb say. 
Not at that time, but at a future day. 



68 RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. 

The die was cast ; be could not now retrace 
His former life, that lay beyond the flood, 
He dare not mention a word about his race ; 
We mean of course bis parentage or blood, 
Tho^ chimney-sweeps could call at least a dozen, 
If brouorht to life by the sweet name of cousin. 



But Madanje was in ecstasies, had found 

A recognition which she did not hope; 

No words were said that could inflict a wound, 

'Mid so much talk no one had utter'd soap ; 

Music, mirth, and soul-inspiring wine, 

Had swept away the all dividing line. 



Duets, (juartettes in turn, she all refused, 
She had a cold, they must excuse her now. 
Tho' not familiar with all terms they used. 
She knew enough, could make a graceful bow, 
And tell with ease a fashionable lie: 
This is an art that all can learn who try. 



Poor Richard sat and utter'd not a word ; 

He felt dismay'd : what husband would not feel 

Some faint misgivings if he only heard 

The half of this, unless his heart were steel ? 

Here was the one whom he could once adore. 

Acting the fool and lyiog by the score. 

He was a sadder, not a wiser man. 

Had he been so he would have stayed at home. 

Nor let his wife adopt another plan. 

Or choose a sphere whence shame can only come, 

Made her to know true happiness depends 

On tried acquaintance, not with foreign friends. 



PERDITUS. 69 

Her life henceforth was one incessant ronnd 

Of fashionable folly ; ended her career 

Iq dissipation, but Richard found 

The sweetest jo}^ vouchsafed a mortal here 

Is with the friends who cherish us in youth, 

Rough though they be their love indeed is truth. 



THE STORY OF PERDITUS. 



A TALE OF REAL LIFE 



"I am an outcast. All decent society 
Has spew'd me out as a thing unclean ; 

I am not famous for strict sobriety 
And other virtues equally as mean. 

This will appear as I propose to give 

My own history in this narrative. 

"Well, I was born — it does not matter where — 
I merely say it to begin my story ; 
My birth was humble, yet ray lineage fair, 
Till I disgraced it of its pride and glory. 
Mine is no antiquated tale ; I fell 
From no line illustrious — no curs can yell. 

"My youth was sj)ent, as I was very poor, 
In hoeing corn and other vulgar turns 
As served to keep a famine from my door, 

And set to rights a parent's small concerns ; 
Such as his stock, the number very slight, 
I tended to, and chopped the w ood at night. 



70 PERDITUS. 

"About sixteen I found my \vay to school, 
The world at last was opening to my view, 
And no one shuts his eyes, except a fool, 

And misses chances as he passes through. 
Good intentions are pleasurable things 
To be discussed by rogues and thieving rings. 

'' Old Squire Legens was a learned man, 

Kead Plutarch's Lives and Machiavelli's Prince, 
The ancient feuds of ev'ry Highland clan. 

And ev'ry novel bound and written since 
Adam first figur'd as hero in the first, 
And married Eve — as usual, got the worst. 

"The school-house a shanty — perhaps a hut. 
But take your choice, call it as you please — 
A wooden chimney, always full of soot. 

The underx>inning mostly hogs and fleas, 
The scholars all a teacher could desire. 
Whose chief ambition to make a dunce or liar. 

" With dignity the learned Legens sat 
Upon his throne, a crazy wooden chair, 
Bottom'd with splits, and issued his fiat, 

Which made on end each individual hair 
To stand erect. Fve read this line somewhere. 
In " Whitman's Leaves," if not it should be there. 

" Cowhide and birch contain the first resort 
That fogies use in managing a school, 
They much prefer to sending a report 

To use the rod ; no boy is a mule 
Unless a brute shall choose to make him one 
By beating him ; this is the way it's done. 



PERDITUS. 

" Talk of mosquitoes, bed-bugs, flies and fleas, 
Of being bor'd by some stupid dunce, 
And first be thrash'd, then lectured, on your knees. 

You'll not exchange the punishment but once. 
No wonder, then, from all such schools as this 
That rascals come and turn their steps amiss. 

" A lie would save where truth would only fail ; 

What boy, then, with little moral sense, 
Would hesitate to tell a lying tale 

To save his hide, altho' at truth's expense ? 
Yet this is done and mankind wonder why 
That Nature gives propensities to lie. 

" Book learning, however, is not essential 
To common sense, nor common sense to it. 
For one may be, (we say this deferential,) 

An ass, altho' his head be full of wit, 
But not his own, but borrow'd from a stall. 
Where luckless wits with all their wisdom crawl. 



^' The Squire was a genius of this kind. 

Original only in the application 
Of another's idea; not sufficient mind 

For that rare talent call'd adaptation ; 
A dunce, a doctrinaire, a mere buffoon, 
W^ho tried the stars, tho' stricken by the moon. 

*'Now this old cob was pious in his way. 
And * pious in his way^ includes a deal 

Of devious twisting from what they say, 
That Christians are suppos'd to act and feel, 

Still woman and cards were never in his line; 

For book-worms rarely in these graces shine. 



72 PERDITUS. 

"His vices mostly were negative in kind, 
That is to say, he lack'd the moral force 
To sin outright, yet devilish shrewd to find 

Some text in writ to justify his course. 
Which was comprised, we say it in a lump, 
* By whipping the Devil around the stump/ 

" Here was I taught the elements of vice. 
The letters in the alphabet of sin, 
And progress'd finely, stopping once or twice, 

To see how best my career to begin. 
I was no meaner taken from the start, 
Than other lads — I owe it all to art. 



"But why excuses to those I most despise? 

They ruined me ere I had injur'd them, 
They taught me first to value cheats and lies; 

They made the crown I wear the diadem ; 
They taught me, too, (and could I hope for less,j 
Crimes are forgiven when one achieves success. 

"Hypocrisy only is said to be 

A tribute forced, which Vice to Virtue pays. 
I am no hypocrite, this a fool can see. 

The class I represent, no class that prays 
In public loudly, straightway condescend 
To steal a farthing or to rob a friend. 



' Still I have no apologies to make. 

My course is wrong, but still I wish to throw 
On proper persons blame they blush to take ; 

Vile as I am, I have the right to show 
Some reason why so fallen I became. 
And some excuse make for the sake of shame. 



PERDITUS. 73 

*^ My first encounter to which I did succumb, 

A trial was few mortals could resist ; 
Tho' I confess I must have been benumbed 

Till conscience smote me — here is where I missed; 
For had I listen'd, doubtless I had been 
A shining light among the moral men. 



*' This was my first /asco : youth is shy 

When it is caught to tempt the fates agaia ; 
And love, Avhich has its inlet through the eye. 

Can be pluck'd out and give us little pain. 
True hearts alone would ever volunteer 
To love but one — mine changes ev'ry year. 

*'This scandal, of course, created quite a stir 
Among the moral ones, and I was sent 

Forth in the world, Avithout a word of cheer ; 
Fine way, no doubt, to make a scamp repent, 

And teach him morals : note and you will see 

How much, at least, it benefitted me. 

^^Micawber was the fellow who invented 

The phrase of ^ turning up ; ' I felt the force 
Of his remarks, and altho' I dissented 

From his clause on * waiting,' still this, of course 
Is part of the programme, I did not wait, 
But went at once, and herein give my fate : — 

^'Expelled from home I wander'd to the city 

In search of something. ^ Cuts be as they may,' 
One can somehow become a thing of pity, 

And thus be forc'd to sell himself for pay. 
Conservative rascality pays the best — 
Make all you can, but how, let that be guessed. 
G 



74 PEKDITUS. 

*^* Honesty is the best policy,' says 

The type supreme of dime-saving schools ; 
Such words were good in honest Franklin's days. 

When mankind heeded a set of moral rules 
To guide them right, but the present rage 
For lucre drives such maxims from the stasre. 



"Now I was born in that delightful clime 

That nourished him, and as a thing of course 
Spent all spare moments, intervals of time. 

In reading proverbs from that moral source, 
Which, like the Nile's, is undiscovered, yet 
Poor Richard's Almanack the best to get. 

" Who knows what grand creations are must know 
They spring from nothing, and labor to attain 
To eminence, chance may make mountains so — 

Not men, for theirs must come from soul or brain. 
Success alone is token of true merit. 
Not blood, nor wealth — these may a fool inherit. 



"A race of hypocrites from whence I sprung — 
I am not mealy-mouthed in what I say — 
It matters little what may be said or sung, 

One has a right by virtue of his ]3lea 
Of outlawry to rail at what be pleases 
And curse the race that gave him such diseases. 



"The very soil I was fated to inhabit 

Was curs'd with barrenness — the sea-gull only 
Sings the lullaby of the lonely rabbit 

That burrows in cliffs all ivy less and lonely. 
Of course, therefore, our cunning must supply 
What climate, soil, and Nature all deny. 



PERDITUS. 75 

^' But I am wiind'ring. I left myself, 

If I mistake not, in the busy city 
In search of something to earn a little pelf, 

And thus avoid a vain appeal to pity. 
Revolving schemes, at length I hit on this. 
To be a peddler, no peddler comes amiss. 

^' I fill'd ray pack and gaily eallied forth 

On fortune bent. The fates were in my favor. 

I gull'd the silly, liv'd on bread and broth ; 
My tastes were simple, for then no extra flavor 

Had been requir'd by riotous delights ; 

I work'd by day, and staid in doors o'nights. 

'' In course of time — not that whick Pollok wrote — 
I changed my programme, bought a spanking team 

That carried more than what I us'd to tote 
Upon my back, and now began to dream 

Of opulence. Nay, I had dream'd before ; 

Saw millions nodding to my slender store. 



" My sphere, of course, I felt was too confined ; 

My partners, too, of me suspicious grew, 
For on computing cash accounts, they find. 

The peddler was the richer of the two. 
They bought me out (it prov'd to be no pity) 
For thirty thousand, and I left the city. 

" As pilgrims up some mountain's side ascend, 

And stop anon to gaze on S3enes below, 

Review their path now smoother to its end, 

And thank the gods they have not far to go ; 
So I, content with money in my purse, 
A moment paus'd my past life to rehearse. 



76 TERDITUS. 

'' I summ'd it up witli all its ' hooks aud crooks/ 
From the first fiasco with Logins daughter, 
And made jK'u sees not borrow'd from the books 

That I had moved so far in nuiddy water. 
It makes no matter, for comfort can be found 
In such reflections, if we but look around. 



" More sin is always done in making cash 

Than spending it, tho' some men differ here, 
Yet all prime moves in a financial crash 

Are made by scoundrels, (stick a pin just there.) 
And yet the world can always lend a smile 
To guiUy^ ones in adding to their pile. 



'' My course was crooked ; nay more, wrong I mean ; 

A deviation from the moral line 
Which some men follow we have never seen 

But read about, and whose graces shine 
In cheap editions of the Sunday School 
Literature, written by an ass or fool. 

'^But I had made— it does not matter how — 

A pile at least to satisfy my need ; 
Could buy a country-seat and study now, 

Improve my mind, also my moral creed ; 
Turn philanthropist, or some other fraud, 
Pretend simplicity, but feel a lord. 

*' I had been poor, and therefore keenly knew 
The bitter pangs that wait on rags and dirt. 
Of begging heartless souls for work to do ; 

The ceaseless struggle mind and limb exert ; 
To purchase what ? — the offal they refuse, 
And take such things as they disdain to use. 



lERDlTUa. 77 

*'llad also seen the sanctimonious sneer 

That greeted such as ever went to prayer. 

They had no need of dirty paupers here, 

And seem'd surpris'd that God couUl need them there. 

These things, with others, have driven me to take 

My course in life, and money is my stake. 

*' But I am rich, and do not care a straw 

For such reflections as au^- choose to fling" 
From a disclosure of some little flaw 

That others pick. The bee has lost its sting. 
I stand confest almost a millionaire; 
This being so, a i^enny do I care. 



''My steals to Gotham, the bulls and bears, 
Stock speculators, rail monopolies, 
To rogues miscall'd (pardon me) millionaires, 

And other cheats that charm all human eyes. 
A noble aim alwa3's deserves to be 
CrownM with success ; it happen'd so to me. 



"A millionaire, a leach in full repletiou. 

With gain dishonest suck'd from rich and poor 

Whose monster piles ne'er dwindle to depletion, 
But river-like receiving more and more. 

Their petty owners swell in proportion too. 

Until an ass becomes a Richelieu. 



'I was an adept, especially in stock. 

And came out best ; sure always in the end 

My cunning boat ne'er flounder'd on a rock. 
And never stranded on a dividend. 

The secret was, I managed to preserve, 

W^here others quailed, a sure and steady nerve. 



78 PERDITUS. 

*' I gain'd my point, became a millionaire, 

Drank all the cups of sin and pleasure too ; 
Yet did it all with such a merry air 

That moral men were wont to praise me too. 
Fair women own'd the power of my charms, 
And welcomed me (how else,) with open arms. 

^' Some surly souls heaped curses on my head. 
And flew to courts with malice and revenge. 
The courts by me were duly rubb'd and fed ; 
The judge could find no reason to impinge. 
No judge e'er sees a culprit on the docket. 
Who measures justice according to his pocket. 



a 



Hijrh office never can elevate 



n 



A vulgar nature, and I knew these men 
Were just as fond of greed and billingsgats. 

Vile in the past, as much so now, as then ; 
Exalted asses only seem immense 
To idiots and others in want of sense. 



^'My moral creed, I must confess, is loose; 

My soul is of the coarsest grain I know ; 
My neck, no doubt, would quite become a noose; 

My name suffice to bring out quite a show. 
But I am safe — for this invent a i>hrase 
Which you may read — ' he never hangs who pays.^ 

*' Tho' meanly vile I had not wholly lost 

My self-respect ; perhaps the cringing crowd 
Preserved it for me. Much as I have tossed 

In dissipation, some were always proud 
To blow my trumpet. Oh! potent, heartless cash, 
On poverty's bare back to lay the cruel lash! 



PERDITUS. 79 

" But hitherto I had escap'd detectiou ; 

Had gone in style, play'd billiards by the score, 
Had lovely females to soothe me ia dejection, 

Swells to court me, beggars to implore ; 
Had prayers invoking blessings on my head, 
Women to love me knowinir I was wed. 



"Such treatment was too much, I do aver. 
For human nature at any length to stand. 

I sometimes thought, I surely do not err. 
And became less coy, exhibiting my hand. 

Success ever invariably blind 

Alike the noble and ignoble mind. 

"My drives were splendid; bays of speed and blood 
Seem'd proud to draw the car that me contained. 

Why not ? My bosom with a diamond stud 
Resplendent shone; my bridles golden-rein'd 

And silver-bitted, while my lackeys wore 

Regalia glittering with golden ore. 



"Courted, caress'd and flatter'd by the fair. 

My bosom still felt no responsive throb. 
But license only ; I always had my share 

Of that elixir, with a thirst to rob. 
Yet is not this good Anglo-Saxon taste, 
Provided one who robs will also waste. 



" I spent my days in adding to that pile 

That gave me leave to while away the night. 
In private boxes, caressed with many a smile, 

Which seem'd to say, ^Perditus, yon are right I 
Make money: in all the catalogue of crime 
Is none so great as being without a dime.' 



80 PERDITUS. 

'' I had become the lion of the day, 

And truly felt I had achiev'd my end- 
That my surmise as to the proper way 

Of judging mankind was right ; I defend 
This line of policy, which is all comprest 
Into lie, cheat, steal, but avoid arrest. 

** How soon will pa to darling daughter say, 
' My child, your beau is quite a clever man. 
And if he ask, i)ray do not answer nay, 

But if he won't, then make him if you can ; 
That other lad, who keeps the corner store 
Is honest, dear, but then, you know he's poor.' 

*' Geniuses were always fools, that is to say, 
Worshippers of aught outside of money, 
Dwelling in dream-worlds, pass their lives away 

In poverty and want, while milk and honey 
Flow in profusion at the feet of him 
Without taste sufficient to relish them. 



*'This is the world — the greedy sordid world — 
I knew it well and read its lines aright, 
Elbow'd my way through crowds, defiance hurl'd 

Upon opposing scamps, and made but light 
Of their pretensions. Who car'd to know 
Whom I had been when I was thrivin"- so ? 



' I am no worse than others — carried out 

What they have taught — let some men gnash their teeth ; 
I found in youth that mankind prate about 

Dishonest gain, and yet contrive a wreath 
For him who gains it. How this stubborn truth 

Does shock the soul of unsuspecting youth. 



PERDITUS. 81 

^'I might, when young, have gone to books and made 

A Dame perhaps that future chroniclers 
Had been proud to mention, but I surveyed 

The sons of genius oft in rags and tears, 
And beojiiring bread! I did not hesitate 
As to my choice, and hence my better fate. 

*'But why philosophize? 'Tis known to all, 

Fame buys no luxury, but money will. 
Wit, without doubt, to some extent by all 

Is a thing desir'd, yet it can never till 
A woman's eye, but diamonds often can. 
In her opinion, make an ass a man. 

*'Now I had lix'd my lech'rous eyes upon 

A belle as fair as any in the town. 
True, she had ask'd, and I had favors done, 

And for her sake I thrust my fingers down 
Deep in ray pockets ; bought a house and lot 
For her dear sake and took her to the spot. 

^^She was my mistress — none can be a swell 
Without at least some adjunct of this sort; 
Must have a wife, w hom he loves passing well, 

And yet another, whose dalliance and sport 
Is far more pleasing to the vulgar heart 
Than she whom good men call our 'better part.* 

*' Ere long I was the scandal of the city ; 

Friends without number strove to intercede ; 
Tea-loving matrons averr'd it was a pity 

That I should leave my better half and lead 
A life of shame; I, like a vsenseless brute, 



82 PERDITUS. 

*'I went too far, for vice expos'd is crime. 

Do as yon please, but let not others know 
Your secret sins : too soon avenging time 

Will do this for you. Some things none must know 
Except yourself; fools only advertise 
Their weaknesses, but never so the wise. 

"I knew of love in youth, but what is love 
In woman's eye, except an empty dream 
When one is poor ? Your gentle, cooing dove, 

The sweetest coos, when she beholds the beam 
Of opulence, and best reciprocates 
When she can find no lien on vour estates. 



'^I spent my days in one incessant round 

Of dissipation till I saw a corner 
In stock, and then, indeed, I could be found 

With bulls and bears making banks a mourner. 
I darken'd days with golden speculation. 
And frighten'd even the credit of the nation. 



'^ In summer time I hied me to the springs. 
Whereat to meet the most congenial snobs, 
Where demoiselles and other costly things — 

Gamblers, roueSj the urbane knave who robs 
Three quarters of a year, contrive to meet, 
To flaunt their gains and hold communion sweet. 



^^ Were you e'er there f If not, by all means go, 
^Tis something to be seen well worth the sight ; 
All classes here eat fashionable crow, 

Not mincingly, but with a sheer delight ; 
Madame Yulgus here ascends to Madame Taste, 
Provided she has gold enough to waste. 



PERDITUS. 83 

" From bim who sits upon the highest seat 
That nations give e'en to the most obscure, 
In this one spot may hobl communion sweet : 
But one thing here, and that is to be poor, 
Debars the pleasant interchange of talk. 
And makes ^ sweet Miss' decline to take a walk. 



" Obsequious ushers bleed you like a leech, 
And porters charge a most enormous rate. 
While ragamuffins crowd upon the beach, 

And run ahead to open every gate ; 
And then demand in such a pesky way, 
You are disgrac'd if you refuse to pay. 



" Here congregate the odds and ends of life, 
The heads and tails of fashionable folly ; 
Some rich, old fool, whose young and dashiug wife 

Forgets her spouse, also her melancholy. 
Flirts with her young and fashionable beau 
And teaches him the art of eating crow. 



" Some bogus lord breaks in upon the scene. 

Becomes at once the lion of the day ; 

All Swelldom ceases for once to be serene. 

And native stars forget their wonted ray ; 
But perturbation spreads throughout the camp, 
When ma helJe finds her lordsliip is a scamp. 

*^'Tis after all a fashionable fair. 

Where ev'ry thing at least is brought to view 
Except one thing, and that is, what j^ou are ; 

This little trifle is not required of you. 
Here men and women (pardon the expression) 
Hold Folly's Court, for once, in open session. 



m PERDITUS. 

'^ I did not lag, for ere this you have seen 
I am ambitious — falsely I confess — 
But drove amain, convinced that I could lean 
Upon my money, and quite dispense finesfie. 
No need of wit, so long as money brings 
Facetious fools to sell their fanny things. 



*'It does require a superhuman nerve 
In such a place to stay the season out, 
The whales alone can manage to preserve 

A steady front amid the general rout 
Of smaller fishes, as the season ends 
With empty pockets and exhausted friends. 



OBITUARY OF PERDITUS. 



Perditus is dead, a sly assassin's shot 
Cut down his life; the sequel of his fate 

I herein give, gratis, but it is not 
My purpose at all to extenuate, 

Nor drag to light from all their dark recesses, 

His evil deeds, short-comings, and excesses. 

A man he was, no doubt of able mind, 

Form'd to contrive and carry daring deeds, 

His moral sense perverted wrong and blind, 
Yet flowers bloom amid the rankest weeds. 

And rugged natures oft contain the gem 

That far outweighs an outside diadem. 



PERDITUS. 85 

He was a type of those seen ev'ry day, 

Who never can a fair distinction draw 
Twixt vice and virtue, wrong and proper way, 

License was liberty, tyranny, law. 
He was no exception to the general rule 
That sudden riches makes a man a fool. 



Geu'rous, and yet without a sense of honor, 

Of courage deficient in moral sense. 
Replete with tricks that only knaves would garner 

A cheat by nature, rogue without prepense ; 
The beau-ideal of a perfect man. 
Made up expressly on the modern plan. 

Accursed Society behold your son, 

The bold, bad man, who dar'd to carry out 

What you have taught him. Do not seek to sh an 
Your share in guilt, nor raise a hollow shout 

Of indignation, for ye taught him first, 

That of all crimes is povertj^ the worst. 



Whate'er he was, call him no hypocrite, 
Such terms as this, at best befit him ill. 

His darkest deeds were done in open light. 
And sought not he his purpose to instil. 

By pleasing precepts, like a moral slave 

Who would condemn indulgences they crave. 



He sleeps at last, the greedy pack can yell 
And curses heap upon his harmless head. 

Ornate divines construct his future hell. 
Asses can bray : they see the lion dead. 

With God we leave him. He alone is just 

And ^' knows our frame, and that we are but dust." 
H 



Ifjifkal S$$m>§ 



<■ 



THE MILLENIUM 



DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN K. MA BEN 



I. 

ARGUMENT. 



The law as contained in the Ten Commandments — Beflections of a 
general nature arising therefrom — The Gospel, General outline — 
Its after-history — The Patriarclis and other matters. 

About four thousand years ago, 

As Holy Writ and records show, 

It pleas'd Almighty God to give 

Ten legal rules by which to live, 

Tho^ for entire application, 

Were given first to Jacobus nation. 

Whom, in his wisdom, God had chose 

To be his own, escap'd the throes 

Of slavery and fled afar 

From Egypt and her Potiphar. 

For them the sea rolPd back its spray 

On either side to give them way. 

And scarce, as erst they touch'd the shore 

Beyond, roll'd backward, as before, 

Engulphing to the uttermost 

The wicked King and all his host. 

Yet this rebellious people broke 

So oft the law of which we spoke 



THE MILLENIUM. 87 

Tbat God at length was forc'd to say, 

'' They shall not enter in but stay 

In wilds and perish by the way." 

It seems the veriest contradiction, 

Yet Truth at times surpasses Fiction, 

That God's elect would rather choose 

To serve the De^il and refuse 

The milk and honey, thus prefer 

The leeks and onions to such cheer. 

Yet so it is, and ever since 

Mankind have shown a consistence 

In this direction and upset 

The best of methods known as yet, 

For their own good, prefer perdition 

To any Heaven '' on condition," 

And reckon each succeeding Moses, 

A knave that leads them by their noses. 

SEQUENCE. 

'^Tall trees from little acorns grow," 
''And little drops make oceans flow," 
Were maxims taught us long ago, 
And patent to the dullest mind. 
That makes a study of its kind. 
Is th3,t 2)€nchant to magnify 
What happen'd in an age gone by. 
Take for example, if you please. 
That story of Demosthenes, 
Who, finding youthful words were rebels, 
Subdued by iielting them with pebbles ; 
And then, as if to recompense 
Dame Nature for this grave offence, 
Which Art had given, for his tones. 
He spent his life in fear of stones. 
Tis well known that the human mind, 
When idle will contrive to find 



88 THE MILLENIUM. 

Some art or device to supply 
The aching voi<l aud occupy 
Itself, and serves it just as well, 
A kiugdom, or a bagatelle ; 
Thus we are told in Holy Writ 
That Eve and Adam could not sit. 
'Neath Eden shades from day to day, 
And pass celestial lives away; 
But various are the ways that man 
Invents to shun the hated ban 
Of idleness ; some guide the plow. 
Some wield the pen, as w^e do now. 
Some legislate, some preach and pray. 
Do any thing — provide it pay : 
And so it goes, and since the day 
The law was given, some for pay. 
And others love, have added to it. 
That God himself would fail to know it. 
And yet, as if to show its strength, 
'Tis scatter'd thro' the breadth and length, 
And bears the fruit, tho' sparsely sow'd, 
Throughout each looming code, 
Embellish'd with ten thousand rules, 
That charm the wise and cheat the fools. 

THE GOSPEL. 

Some eighteen hundred years ago. 

As Holy Writ and records show, 

A child was born in Bethlehem 

Of Judea, and Magi came 

From Eastern parts to worship Him, 

And bringing frankincense and myrrh, 

Such gifts as Orients prefer. 

The Wondrous Child became a man 

Of wisdom full and then began 

His Heav'nly purpose to fultil, 



THE MILLENIUM. 89 

Which was to do his Father's will. 

The simple doctrines by him taught, 

Were all with love and wisdom fraught — 

" Love one another " was the key 

To all of his theology, 

W^hich was comprised, in greater part. 

In loving God with all thy heart. 

And soul and mind, this, just above, 

^' Thy neighbor as thj^ self to love." 

At proper time twelve men he chose 

From humble life and tanght to those 

By signs and wonders by him done, 

He was the long expected One 

Whom Prophets in the days of okl 

Did write about, and had foretold. 

His purpose till'd, he died for man 

In accord with his Father's i)lan. 

Yet ere corruption o'er him spread, 

He rose victorious from the dead. 

As David in the Psalms had said, 

And went to Heaven, there to make 

Full intercession for the sake 

Of all that hate him, pointing to 

The wounds inflicted b^\ the Jew. 

The Twelve were sent thro' all the earth 

To tell the story of his birth. 

And life, and death, and to proclaim 

Salvation only thro' his name. 

Some went to Athens, some were sent 

To teach barbarians to repent. 

With power giv'n from God-head 

To heal the sick and raise the dead. 

Result of which the truth was sown 

In all the earth at that time known, 

Which bore the fruits of blameless life, 

Since peace they taught instead of strife. 



90 THE MILLENIUM. 

Some fifty years, when they were dead, 

A sudden quarrel overspread 

All Christendom as to the Head 

Of primal churches, and began 

That *'war of words" that puzzles mau^ 

As ho the simple story reads 

And then compares it with the creeds 

That Hood the earth and crowd the shelves 

With explanations of — themselves. 

SPECULATIONS. 

Some writer says, (dispute who can,) 

The study chief of man is man. 

The theme no doubt aifords a field 

Immense to such as love to wield 

Their talents in a varied way, 

*' Severe and lively, grave and gay." 

Perhaps a few examples here 

Will serve to make tlie subject clear : 

One, in a religious light. 

Inspects his subject day and night. 

And striking on some happy hint, 

A volume rushes into print. 

Replete with reasoning prodigious, 

To prove that mankind is religious ; 

Others, of philosophic bent. 

Regard him as a monument 

Unfinish'd still ; the only price 

Requir'd now is their advice 

ContainM in calves, that on the shelves 

Resemble monuments themselves. 

Others, in a social way, 

Ransack the past, the "good old day," 

And reason, as a thing of course. 

The fount is purer at its source, 

Go back unto the very day 



THE MILLENIUM. iU 

Our parents sinn'd and fell awa^', 

Beholds them losing Eden's bliss, 

Their talents turn to mending this, 

Keviews the honest Patriarchs, 

Ere paving streets and grading parks 

Had come in use or been in vogue 

To starve the poor, enrich the rogue, 

No money to appropriate 

For thieving rings to speculate, 

When mankind were too pure to breed 

A slipper}^ Dick or Oily Tweed, 

When strict patersfamilias 

Engross'd their bills and let them pass, 

When tents were capitals and when 

No lawyer had appeared to men. 

With points and disquisitions nice, 

And heavy fees for light advice ; 

No Congress then to legislate, 

Enacting laws to rob the State ; 

No '^ salary grabs,^' no subsidies, 

No long debates defending these ; 

Each individual family 

Believ'd in "squatter sovereignty," 

Without ransacking books and shelves, 

Enacted laws to suit themselves. 

Ah, "Little Giant!" piteous fate. 

To live five thousand years too late. 

Yet this alas, is oft the case, 

Kight men are born in the wrong place ; 

Or, to set the sense more clearly. 

Either born too late or early. 

And miss by chance, or accident, 

A gibbet or a monument : 

More simple still the married state 

Existing at that early date. 

For facts do not substantiate, 



92 THE MILLENIUxM. 

That Parsous at that dav existed 



By whom the nuptial knot was twisted ; 

No need of thirds, as moderns do, 

In matters which concern but two ; 

No courtship and no empty vows, 

But ^'will you milk my goats and cowsf 

If answer'd ^'yes,'^ at once they went — 

Not to the Parson, but the tent, 

And for the balance of her life 

l^ofemme couverte, but trusting wife. 

To make it yet more simple still 

Oft times a servant could fulfil 

The trust, while modern times require 

All kith and kin, as well as sire 

To bring about, and then a dozen 

Left angry, with their '' loving cousin," 

At being married in a trice, 

Without obtaining their *' advice ;" 

Whilst oily parsons consecrate 

The dainty dish in pompous state,' 

And smelling much of books and shelves. 

Occasion take to air themselves, 

Pronounces them as duly wed, 

Tho' neither heard the half he saidj 

Obtains a kiss, and then his fee ; 

No farther need of such as he. 

Exhaustless subject, you can see 
Without addition, therefore we, 
To see what men say of themselves. 
Have but to search the stalls and shelves 
Throughout the land, and we shall find 
A number written in this kind : 
*'It may be noted at a glance. 
Complexity means an advance," 
Says one, '' from all established rules, 



THE MILLENIUM. 93 

Adopted both to AA'ise and fools, 

Whereas it takes a lifetime now 

To know not why man lives, but how ;" 

Therefore this one doth contend 

Simplicity is the chief end 

Of government, and boldly says: 

^* A state of Nature is the phase 

That God intended.'' This sans donfc 

Might suit an angel or a brute. 

Enough of nonsense ; vain to quote 

What fools conceived or dunces Avrote. 

Back to the text, we only meant 

To speak of an experiment, 

And therefore without more ado, 

We bring it to the reader's view. 

11. 

The Discocenj of Ltopia — The Country IJescr'ibed — Character of 
the Natives — The Emif/ranfs who settled it — Some Facts in its 
History Thereafter, 

Time out of mind it has been taught, 
That human nature could be brought 
To full perfection by some plan 
Submitted not by God, but man ; 
So in accordance with this scheme. 
Which tallies with the poet's dream, 
And adds immense eclat and glory. 
To certain styles of oratory ; 
Great Plato first on fancy drew 
For ideat kingdoms, which if true 
And practical, had been no doubt, 
The same enthusiasts prate about. 
Yet failing, deem not Plato's plan, 
Will ever lose its weight w ith man, 
For scores of sages yet will say. 



94 THE MILLENIUM. 

"The fault was but in Plato's day, 
When half the world iu darkness lay. 
Could he have had our modern aids 
And helps to reconcile the shades 
Of diff 'rence in the common mind 
And such discrepancies as find 
Themselves in systems newly tried, 
Plato had seen it ere he died ;* 
Had seen a people in Avliose law 
No expert could detect a Haw — 
''The best that mankind ever saw." 
The last assertion seems to lead 
To explanations ; we proceed 
To give it without more ado 
Thanhs necessary thereunto. 

THE DISCO VKKY. 

Kemote from other worlds was found 
A country vast and richly" crowned 
With all that Natures' lavish hand 
Could ever give, or God command. 
Interminable forests stood, 
Abounding in all kinds of wood, 
The poplar's tall majestic head 
In vallies rich its branches spread, 
The various species of the oak 
With giant arms outspreading spoke, 
A fertile soil whereon it grew 
To size immense, the solemn yew 
Eiltwin'd, as bridegroom doth the bride, 
The waving cypress at its side. 
The fields bedeck'd with ev'ry fruit 
Sweet to the taste of of man or brute, 
The apple and delicious peach 
W^eighed down the laden limbs in reach, 
As if invitins: man to trv 



THE MILLENIUM. 95 

Their sweetness as lie passes by ; 
In clusters hung the juicy grape 
On vines of wild fantastic shape, 
That clung to some supporting tree 
Like Virtue does to Chastity. 
The fields were redolent Avith sweets 
Of flowers wild, whose wide retreats 
Were not pent up by wall or glass. 
But free to all to pluck who pass. 
Rare birds of ev'ry hue and note 
The ravish'd ear with music smote; 
In forests stalked the agile deer. 
The grizzly bear that hunters fear; 
Broad rivers pour'd their rapid spray 
Thro' vallies vast to pass away 
In gulfs, whose great immensity 
Assumed proportions of a sea. 

THE NATIVES. 

But stranger still, this goodly land, 
As if on purpose had been planned "^ 
For gods themselves, was peopled then 
With a peculiar race of men. 
Whose origin must still remain 
A mystery since none explain. 
Yet this is certain, none deny. 
This goodly land that charmed the eye 
Was their's alone — this by the way — 
Yet more concerning such as they. 

THE SETTLEMENT. 

Hail, Mighty Era! which consigned 
Another world, wherein mankind. 
In what the Old had fail'd to do. 
Might now accomplish in the New ; 
For what are all new worlds intended, 



96 THE MILLENIUM. 

Except like old ones, to be mended; 
But mark you, note the varied range 
Of ideas which the sudden change 
This new and great discovery wrought 
In all the realms of human thought! 
The grasping miser dream'd at night 
Of golden bars and rubies bright, 
Adventurous souls beheld a field 
Which they at once could force to yield 
Excitements, which could satisfy 
The need that well known haunts deny, 
The man of fame at once gave way 
To mighty dreams of regal sway. 
'Tis true no formidable foe 
Confronted him with battlers show. 
But wild and undisciplined race, 
Who liv'd by hunting and the chase. 
And yet success is all the same 
If that your foe be wild or tame. 
Provided seas but roll between 
And you the Hero of the scene- 
Example, " Ctesar's Commentaries : '' 
How widely from the truth it varies ; 
None can determine since the Gaul, 
To contradict, left none at all. 
'' Enchantment" not alone to mounts 
Doth distance lend, but fierce accounts 
Of bloody battles never fought. 
And deeds of daring never wrought. 
Tis useless to suspect a lie 
Without the proof to verify, 
Or, an contraire, believe forsooth 
A man who never tells the truth. 
Thus wisely thought the man of fame, 
Of all such things before he came. 
The good religious divined 



THE MILLENIUM. 97 

His mission was to leave behind 

A people whom the gospel leaven 

Prepar'd sufficiently for Heaven, 

And go ^mongst savages to preach 

New ways of life, also to teach 

A blind belief in woruout creeds, 

(Yet always new to one who needs,) 

In well-authenticated deeds 

Of saints, whose history so twisted 

'Tis doubtful if the same existed, 

Yet if they did, and still exist 

Around us now, as some insist, 

They spend their time to solve the mystery 

Of finding theijiselves writ in history. 

Such credos and a thousand others 

Felt call'd to teach benighted brothers, 

And, who in case of non-compliance 

With his desire, or worse, defiance 

Of Gospel law, and thus upset 

The rules of Christian etiquette, 

And of such rules the very chief 

Is an implicit, blind belief 

In tales so near akin to fiction. 

They carry their own contradiction. 

And if thus the savage mind, 

Tho^ to the marvelous inclin'd, 

Refuses fictions of this kind. 

And clings to gods of wood and stone, 

Rather than search for One Unknown, 

Why, in this case, of course the church 

Would never leave him in the lurch ; 

Moreover, to insure success. 

Would make the earth one savage less, 

That is, prefer the lesser evil 

Of sending one to see the Devil 

To losing all— the logic see 

I 



98 THE MILLENIUM. 

In this, oh pious devotee I 

But this discovery was god-send 

To those whose time and talents tend 

In every age to fabricate 

Perfection for the human state, 

Who, failing of success, lament 

The lack of an experiment 

Wherein theories suggested, 

By themselves, be tried and tested. 

And here it was a chance for once 

For ev'ry theoretic dunce 

To show his hand and try his skill,, 

And all his prophecies fulfill. 

Then came a heterogeneous mass 

Of mankind, forming ev'ry class 

Existing at that early day, 

To fell the woods and clear the way. 

The knave and saintly Puritan, 

The liar, thief and courtesan, 

Highwayman, (title dignified 

With that of chieftain,) came in pride: 

Of place and power to assume 

All honors him denied at home ; 

The buccaneer on booty bent, 

The pious missionary sent 

To teach j'oung heathens to repent ; 

Artificer and artisan 

Came out in crowds or busy clan. 

With royal rakes despis'd at Court, 

*^ Lewd fellows of the baser sort '' 

Who gen'rously their presence lent 

To swell the grand experiment, 

And thus Utopia became 

Inhabited by all the lame 

And blind and halt, who hitherto 

Had been at home with nauglit to do,. 



THE MILLENIUM. 99 

Kxcept to live at the expense 

Of others in their indigence. 

Beyond a doubt such crowds before 

Had never flock'd to any shore, 

And Tvhat befel them, what their fate, 

We circumspectly now relate : 

We had forgot before to name, 

In specifying such as came 

To see Utopia, that they 

No idea had thro' life to stay ; 

Result of which each one desired 

A fame or fortune w^ell acquired. 

Would then forsake the foreign shore 

And ne'er return to plague it more ; 

Result, that others bent on theft 

Supplied the place of such as left. 

These, in their turn, also gave way 

To other gangs still bent on prey. 

How long such practices as those 

Might have continued no one knows. 

Had competition not prevented 

This evil practice, and cemented 

The predatory bands, to stay 

And watch their rivals by the way ; 

For mark you, soon as it was known 

All nations claim'd it as their own : 

There hither came in motley groups. 

Not only emigrants but troops, 

And these, right naturally, fell out ; 

But this we need not write about, 

Suffice to say, amongst the rest, 

There came a band whose ranks possest 

A genuine philosopher. 

Whose history is given here: — 



100 THE MILLENIUM. 

Ill 

Contains an account of a Philosopher whose theories were adoj)ted 
concerning Utopia — An Elephant is Introduced in the Colony — 
ffis History is given, and the Millenium dawns. 

"About three hundred years ago, 
When bread was high and pay was low, 
When one could scarcely earn by labor 
Enough to entertain a neighbor, 
There sprung in these remoter ages 
One of the wisest of the sages, 
Who ev^er went upon a trail. 
To shoot a deer or trap a quail. 
We have been told by those who knew, 
He was as kind as he was true. 
And fed the poor upon the border, 
Who had no means to purchase powder ; 
For without this no one could buy 
Enough of meat to make a fry, 
For in that day, as well as this, 
One^s meat and bread ne'er came amiss. 
Nor science, literature and learning, 
A stomach ne'er kept from yearning. 
And what is found most necessary 
To learning is a commissary ; 
And eloquence is mostly found 
Where beef is cheapest in the pound. 
While w it and wine, all mortals know. 
Invariably together flow. 
Well, this Philosopher got tired 
Of being in this w^ay admired. 
For soon he found it would not bring - 
Along with it the needful thing; 
For fame is but a mere gewgaw 
To one who has an empty maw : 
Tho' it entitle to the skies, 



THE MILLENIUM. KH 

No one's so beut to Avin the prize, ' 

As set out with an empty belly 

To run the risk of cake and jelly. 

A sudden change at once was wrought 

In this old Philosopher's thought ; 

No more content to trap the deer, 

Or hear his rifle ringing clear ; 

Another thought supplied him food, 

Thau hero of his neighborhood. 

By some contrivance he had found 

The earth not Siiuare, but nearly round. 

And yet his neighbors all would swear 

He ever acted '' on the square.'' 

This was the difference, as you see> 

Twixt practice and his theory. 

From one extreme into another 

He ran, since he could run no further, 

Ceas'd talking of antipodes, 

Of burning zones and polar seas. 

Political economy 

At once employ'd him, yet he 

No treatise ever read or saw 

But intuition gave him law ; 

Like many others, had, he said, 

"The Wealth of Nations in his head." 

This led him into speculation, 

Not for himself but for the nation, 

And sooth to say this latter spirit, 

His pushing offspring all inherit : 

Prefer to manage all affairs 

Except their own, nay run on shares 

The world itself, provided they. 

In common parlance, ^' make it pay." 

Our Solon saw, with much distress, 
The land a howling wilderness; 



102 THE MILLENIUM. 

So he bethought him how to get 

The Jabor that it needed yet, 

Not e'en Hectors and A j axes, 

He deemed, could fell the trees with axes ; 

Therefore this plan he recommended 

How trees might both be cut and rended. 

By putting powder 'neath their trunks 

And blowing them at once to chunks. 

So, like all other innovators. 

He tried, the first, his apparatus. 

A white oak large before his door, 

In height some fifty feet or more, 

Whose trunk, when measu'd at its base,. 

Some dozen feet or more or less. 

Beneath its trunk he dug a hole. 

And in it did a barrel roll 

All laden to the brim with powder, 

Enough to blow the tree to chowder. 

Next pour'd his fuse along the ground^ 

Applied a match and made a bound 

Within his hut and shuts the door, 

Stops up his ears and waits the roai*, 

As if two worlds had come together, 

W^hose purpose was to crush each otlun% 

Was that report that seem'd to shake 

The pillars of this globe opaque ; 

One limb was thrown against the door. 

And knock'd him sprawling on the floor. 

Another on his roof was blown 

And madly kick'd his chimney down, 

And when at length the Solon woke 

He found his cabin full of smoke. 

And rushing out, at once he saw, 

A scene of ruin and of awe ; 

For all the trees, for yards around, 

Were piPd and scattered on the ground. 



THE MILLENIUM. lO:^ 

A week it took him, labor hard. 

To get the rubbish from his yard, 

And then it took a week or more, 

To get his house as 'twas before. 

As to his plans of felling trees 

Yon might have thought would stop with these; 

But other schemes were in his head, 

Ere he of this had trial made. 

Thus genius never can be spent 

Save thro' its own, its native bent. 

Water never runs up hill ; 

But genius does, and ever will ; 

One yields to force of nature blind ; 

The other to the laws of mind, 

For genius craves and must inherit 

The higher altitudes of spirit. 

THE NEW IDEA. 

On Afric's coast, he had been told, 
That elephants were bought and sold, 
Whose trunks also contain'd the key 
To much of labor's mystery ; 
Yet, as his wealth would not suthce 
To purchase them at present price, 
He laid the scheme before his neighbors, 
How they could mitigate their labors. 
And sooth to say, they all agreed. 
That elephants would stand their need, 
Therefbre on all he made a levy, 
ICnough to buy a cargo heavy. 
And then he hastened to the coast. 
Where Spanish traders frequent most, 
And made at once a stipulation 
Not for himself, but for the nation : 
And whilst the trader sought the coast 
Of Africa, at home they boast, 



104 THE MILLENIUM. 

^* How 80on the trees would disappear, 

When we receive our cargo here;" 

They thought the elephantine snout 

Could pull up trees and drag them out. 

At length the mighty cargo came 

Of elephants both wild and tame. 

It seem'd at first the scheme would pay ; 

Experience drove such hopes away; 

The climate was too cold and bleak, 

The elephants grew lean and weak. 

What should they do ? Not send them back 

To roam again their native track I 

Oh, no ; that scheme would never pay, 

Appear however good it may, 

Their charity directs itself 

In paths alone producing pelf. 

** Necessity can have no law" 

Was utter d by some luckless ^'sa\v," 

Who found himself within a place. 

Which had no outlet but disgrace, 

And us'd it as a valid plea 

To get out of his villainy. 

If right and wrong can have uo meaning, 

If they are but the idle gleaning 

Of men whose smooth and easy fate 

Was never put to such a strait, 

Then may we use it in the day 

When honesty has ceas'd to pay. 

Some witty fellow tells us too, 

(We only wonder how he knew,) 

She is the mother invention 

And other things we may not mention. 

Well, if a time had ever been 

That call'd for all the wit of men. 

That time was this, to free tlie nation 

From this animal creation. 



THE MILLENIUM. 105 

The good philosopher was dead, 

Who put this idea in their head, 

And if he now had been about, 

Would found that time had put it out, 

But these brethren did inherit 

A part of his inventive spirit. 

At once they quickly turn'd about 

And found a way to get thein out ; 

They shipp'd them almost in a trice. 

And sold them otf at any price. 

What next ? for verily it seems 

Their meat and drink consist of schemen 

Of self-advancement, while pretendinoj 

Another's right to be defending, 

Turn all Christianity to pelf 

And traffic make in prayer itself 

All this, with many other things. 

To notice, the next chapter brings. 

IV. 

The Dawn of the MiUemam — Some Clouds that Obscured the OlorirH 
of its Eising Sun — The Elephant a Stumbling Block — Conflicting 
Vieivs as to the Best Manner of Disposing of Him — After Much 
Contention he is Admitted into the Human Family — The Age of 
Philosophers who are to bring about the consummation of all 
things — The Battle of the Armageddon, ect,, conclude the chapter. 

It happened in the course of Time, 
Not PoUok's, — that is too sublime; 
For our purpose, in this place, 
Deals not at all with human race. 
How man is sav^d or how he's lost. 
But chief concerns that mighty host 
Of elephants, both wild and tame, 
Whom we have told from Afric came ; 
Let us, in short, reiterate 



mV THE MILLENIUM. 

That Chapter SecoDd did relate 

To a unique and novel trade 

The Modern JSaints with Sinners made. 

In this it is proposal to tell 

What to these elephants befell 

In that more congenial place, 

The home of all the dusky race; 

And therefore without more ado 

The history is brought to view. 

'Tis well known animal creation, 

Like man, has power of propagation, 

Like him in many other senses, 

Without regard to consequences, 

Therefore the same, as human species, 

Became as numerous as tishes ; 

But still their owners found a way 

To make the dusky creatures pay. 

For those who purchas'd them and bought, 

Were beings of another sort, 

And quickly, readily they found. 

These elephants could till the ground ; 

Found him, besides to be withal, 

Well treated, a good animal, 

In consequence the people grew 

Immensely rich, as would ensue 

To all who mind their own affairs, 

And let not others trouble theirs. 

SAINTLY JEALOUSY. 

The Devil's work-shop, it is said. 

Is found in ev'ry idler's head. 

No doubt Old Nick there often dwells 

And makes a thousand little hells 

Of petty spites and jealousies, 

Of envy at another's ease : 

Indeed, no sore was ever found 



THE MILLENIUM. lO: 

Like that iaimedicable wound, 

Inflicted when a hated rival 

Contrives to rise by no contrival, 

Or help of ours, overleaping 

The bounds we set for his safe keeping. 

Thus was it, as the sequel shows, 

With those who bought and traded thosn 

Gigantic animals, which found 

No sustenance on saintly ground, 

Had found them, tho' they wouhl not i^ay, 

Their equals almost ev'ry v^ny: 

Next came a philosophic race 

Of saints, with powers full to trace 

The source of ev'ry ill or good 
Afflicting mankind since the flood, 
In each succeeding system sa^v- 
The want of one prevailing law ; 
Who saw as (if by intuition) 
All that belong'd to man's condition. 
They soon began to agitate 
On what they term'd the "social state." 
And next to prove (behold the sequel) 
That all things were created e(iual. 
And fill'd the earth with wind and rant 
(Sandwiched with due amount of cant ) 
And all about an elephant. 
Meanwhile said elephant, content, 
Perform'd the task that he was seiit. 
And never dreamt the world without, 
Was getting into grief about 
Himself. 'Twas pity thrown away ; 
Oh, no; have they not made it pay/ 

THK KLEFIIAXT AFORKTIMh: — TIIK SIXXEi:S \M) SvlMs coN- 

TKASTED, ETC. 

Oft where the Nile, or Niger flows 
Tho' sunny wastes, and brightly throws 



KKS THK MILLENIUM. 

The gleamiug sunlight from his breast, 
His memory at times in quest 
Of some dear object, deign'd to go, 
But where it was he did not know. 
He saw the dark and dismal day, 
When he was seiz'd and brought away. 
Then of the deep and rolling sea, 
Ne'er seen before by such as he. 
Then of the cold and sterile soil. 
Where he was first inur'd to toil, 
Then of the cold relentless snow. 
The bitter piercing winds that blow 
Remorseless thro' its winters' long. 
Where ev'n birds refuse a song ; 
Now in a hospitable clime, 
Where all the year was summer time; 
The lark and linnet sweetly sung. 
The field and farm with music rung ; 
Where to the music of banjo 
They ^^ tripp'd the light fantastic toe." 

THE SINNERS. 

But, best of all, their masters were 

The keepers they could love and fear. 

No prating fools who went around. 

To fill the earth with empty sound ; 

No vowing that their souls would melt 

With pity they had never felt. 

No turning systems inside out. 

No social surgeons mad to flout 

Their placards in the face of men, 

No more commandments than the *' Ten ; " 

An air of noble neglige 

Appears in all they do or say, 

No cold and philosophic breed 

Dispensing virtues that they need, 



THE MILLENIUM. ]()<< 

A clariDg and impetuous race 

Imbued with hunting and the chase, 

By nature prone to ridicule 

The cant of Puritanic school, 

Or trash of transcendental fool, ' 

No straight-laced ministers, whose shelves 

Preach Hell to all except themselves. 

THE SAINTS. 

But volumes it would take to mention 
About that nation of invention 
Whose long alliterative phrase 
Crops out in all it writes and says, 
For since Pere Adam first began 
To people this wide world with man, 
There never has before existed 
A people so perverse and twisted, 
With traits and humors all so blended, 
No man can tell whence they descended; 
Red, blue, and black (in chief the latter) 
Seem mingled in their moral platter ; 
Ev'n they themselves refuse to lick 
The plate that makes all others sick. 
All things in Heaven, Earth, or Hell, 
Serve equally their purpose well. 
We have been told their first appearance 
Upon this earth was interference 
With things established long ago. 
And which they tried to overthrow, 
But in their turn were driv'n out 
For being rather too devout. 
Their deep abhorrence, too, of witches, 
Of luxury and handsome breeches ; 
Their gloomy love and sour looks. 
Their deep antipathies to books. 
Save of the heavy, solemn kind 
J 



aiO THE MILLENIUM. 

That treat of all to Hell consigned, 

Except themselves ; their moral law, 

Worse than Egyptian "bricks and straw ;" 

Their solemn, sanctimonious airs, 

Their fondness for the longest prayers ; 

The rueful cant and nasal twang, 

In which they either spoke or sang ; 

Their blue laws and their peace conventions, 

Their sour pride and high pretensions 

To sanctity, the very traces 

The Devil wrote upon their faces, 

So twisted, as to say and mean, 

*' See what a Saint I must have been !'' 

Their utter want of toleration, 

And woful lack of veneration ; 

Their impudence and self-conceit 

Strike ev'ry one they chance to meet, 

In Senate, forum, or the street : 

These be who sing "Millenium," 

And bring about the "Kingdom Come." 

PHILOSOPHERS AMONG THE SAINTS. 

Next came a philosophic race, 

With full abilities to trace 

The source of ev'ry ill or good 

Afflicting mankind since the flood. 

These deep philosophers were given 

To speculate on earth, as Heaven ; 

Saw universal law pervading 

The paths to Heaven they were grading ; 

Saw all kindreds, peoples, tongues 

Mix, and Nature do no wrong ; 

Saw all prejudice and passion, 

Of natures foreign in compassion ; 

Saw white and smutty Hottentot 

All boiling in a common pot. 



THE MILLENIUM. Ill 

And, what one never read in fable, 

All eating at a common table ; 

Saw Dutchman and his liehe bier 

Embrace, then part for water clear ; 

Valet de chamhre and queenly mariii 

Together walking arm in arm ; 

8aw mistress and her slutty maid, 

The genius and the worthless jade 

All on a level and a grade : 

Hence, gentle reader, do not doubt 

Aught impossible without 

Some sudden freak shall mar the plan 

They'll prove that man is more than man, 

And that in time the brute creation 

Will occupy his former station. 

Invention, endless at its source, 

God only knows their next recourse. 

In truth then to this maxim heed. 

They never do a dirty deed 

Of wickedness, but that they plead 

Philanthropy, while devils laugh 

To see mankind seduced with chaff. 

THE DOCTORS OF THE NEW^ DIVINITY. 

The laws of Nature are defined 
Quite similar to those of Mind : 
That is to say, in each we see 
An equal inequality. 
The river mingles with the main. 
Rills make the rivers o'er again. 
The great at last absorbs the small, 
Short trees must grow beneath the tall, 
Or else they cannot grow at all, 
Some lofty, solitary peak. 
Absorbs the mount the eye would seek, 
Superior mind must have its sway, 



112 THE MILLENIUM. 

The lesser must of course obey, 

And its full tithe of hoina<;e pay ; 

Still more, absurd as it may seem, 

One must in folly reitru supreme, 

So that in both, as one can see, 

Remains an inequality ; 

And \N'ho, therefore, denies this rule, 

Is neither more nor less than fool. 

But now a period had arrived 

When Wisdom fail'd and Folly thrived, 

When all dictates of common sense 

Were thrown aside without pretense, 

And doctrines that could never suit 

Man, angel, animal or brute, 

Were taught by dunce or doctnuaire 

With explanations to a hair. 

Th'infection spread from sire to son, 

From head to foot, till all Avere one. 

Whilst converts to the New Idea 

Soon spread from Dan to Bersheba. 

Now came the full millenial hour 

When all the Saints should be in power, 

St. Carlos, leading in the van, 

Loom'd up forthwith the ^'coming man,'^ 

By nature blest with a physique 

That all men covet, women seek, 

A pair of lungs that could emit 

A windy volume, but no wit, 

A head so fashion'd as contain 

All other things except a brain, 

Of whom, in truth, it can be said. 

Had but one idea in his head, 

And that was wrong, and yet by might 

Of long orations, made it right, 

Of knowledge great and wisdom small, 

A pile without a spark at all. 



THE MILLENIUM. llli 

AVho in the drag-net of his mind, 

Could ideas take but of one kind, 

An educated weather-cock, 

Of fools, the leader of the flock, 

Stark mad, with ideas just as wild 

As ever fill'd the head of child. 

Honest indeed was he, no doubt, 

Fanatics are, or just about ; 

Forgiving, sooth, he died of late 

And left his '* legacy of hate." 

St. Horace next, in different sphere^ 

Was more than equal and compeer : ] 

A writer, orator and sage. 

One who could sprinkle on his pag^ 

More wit than Carlos in an age ; 

Eccentric Saint, and yet withal 

**The noblest Koman of them all/' 

Who, when provok'd, could fiercely cry 

*' You lie, you villain ; you know you lie I " 

St. Phillips, greatest of them all 

To rouse, excite and stir up gall, 

The Boanerges, from whose mouth 

Both wit and madness issued forth. 

The incarnation of the Devil 

In rousing men to deeds of evil, 

Yet after all, as facts have shown, 

Like others, tights by wind alone ; 

His voice, like a trumpets tongue, 

To panting crowds *' the changes rung " 

In burning words that smote at once 

Through cranium of the thickest dunce. 

These be the chief, tho^ others bear 

In labor, like an eqnal share. 



114 THE MILLENIUM. 

THE liA'ITLE OF THE ARMAGEDDON, WHICH BllINGS THIS HIS- 
TORY TO THE EVE OF MILLENIl'M. 

'Tis good to recapitulate 
At times, in other words, to state 
What has been Avritten once before. 
For explanations sake — no more. 
Be it remembered then a trade, 
Concerning elephants, was made 
'Twixt Saint and Sinner, and wherein 
The Saint's abhorrence of the sin 
Of elephantine slavery 
Occurs not in this knavery. 
In course of time, some way or other, 
^ They learn'd to love them as a brother ; 

Nay, found them, tho^ they would not pay, 

Their equals fully ev'ry way. 

Experience proves beyond a doubt 

That that was true, nay carries out, 

That elephants, in honesty. 

Were their siq)enors, we shall see : 

The bargain struck, at once began 

A war of words that puzzles man : ^^^-' — 

Each lesser Saint to greater bowed 

Horse, foot, dragoon — a motly crowd. 

Till all Utopia became 

Confusion worse than a Bedlam. 

Ye gods! how wind and thunder roiPd 

From such as lately bought and sold ! 

With what poetic frenzy told. 

How elephants, from day to day. 

In sighs and tears, groan'd life away! 

At times the saintly bilingsgate 

Was measureless; invoking Fate, 

And all the furies out of Hell, 

Forthwith to come the curse to quell ; 

Pronounced the writ that gave them breath, 



THE MILLENIUM. 

*' A league and coveDaut with death ! *' 
Like saints, who true Millenium saw, 
Began to preach ^^ the higher law,'' 
In short, to ruin fabric reared 
By patriots whom worlds revered,, 
For that alone which only time, 
And that, hut short, to prove a crime, 
Which public sentiment w^ould damn, 
Without recourse to cant and sham. 
Yet those who owned them calmly stood, 
With patience long ago subdued, 
In holies at least a better mind 
Might seize a populace so blind, 
Great souls there were on either side 
Who sought to stem the fearful tide : 
One who in prophetic awe. 
His country ^s degradation saw, 
And warn'd them of their coming fate, 
His sole reward — his country's hate. 
Another pray'd the beauteous sun. 
Whose beams he last might gaze upon, 
Might never shine upon a State 
Drench'd in fraternal blood, but fate 
Took his capacious soul away 
Before the horrors of that day. 
It came — alas, the dreadful day ! 
A million homes in ruin lay 
As fire and sword in fury swept 
O'er fields that late in harvests slept, 
And sow'd the earth above, beneath. 
With Hell's own idea — dragon's teeth. 
Tis past— the elephant is free. 
His master slave instead of he. 



116 THE MILLENIUM. 



The Millenium in Full Blast — A Great Chan<je Overcomes All 
Utopia Save One — Great Gathering of the Saints at the New 
Jei'usalem — Tivo Xew Saints are Created and Admitted into the 
Happy Family — Ere long a War Breals Out in the Holy City — 
The Original Saints Overcome hy New Converts and Thrown 
Out — Alarming liumors Fill the Air — The Explosion, and 
Jieturn to Common Sense. 

Now had arrived the woiid'rous age 

That brought Millenium on the stage, 

The consummation of all things, 

When servants, boot-blacks, queens aiul kings, 

When Saturn, Jupiters and Mars, 

Nor more nor less than little stars. 

Behold also the wondrous change 

In Nature's universal range! 

The nice gradations disallowed, 

That God designed, in jumbles crowd 

Upon each other; tar became 

Molasses, infamy was fame; 

Salt turned to sugar, black and white 

Were all the same, and darkness light; 

The ass by right divine became 

The genius ; the wild w^as tame. 

And, vice versa, dunces grew 

To parts surpassing Richelieu ; 

Base imitation turned to Art, — 

The whole but equal to a part. 

And woman, spite of Heaven's plan, 

Strove by enactment to be man, 

And prov'd that modesty and sense 

Were now in the pluperfect tense ; 

Poetasters, (no misnomer) 

To Miltons turn'd or else a Homer. 

The daubing dunce w ith master-piece 



THE MILLENlUiM. 11 

Outshone Appelles, Sdii of Greece ; 

The crazy bawlcT in the street, 

Of wind chock full and self-conceit, 

Was reckoned could not fall below 

Demosthenes or Cicero, 

The empty-headed statesman hit 

Above the mark of William Pitt, 

The lawyer small of county court ^ 

Became an Erskine, and in short, 

The low buffoon and clever wit 

Shook hands across '^ the bloody pit f 

Keligiou, for salvation sent. 

Became a cloak or ornament. 

Thieves turnVl to saints and rogues became 

As honest men ; the sense of shame 

Was blotted out. How could mankind ^ 

Be perfect and be still confined 

By any rule or precedent 

God, man, or angel could invent f 

In fact all such were set aside. 

And in their places new ones tried. 

Now certain in Utopia 

Kefus'd to adopt the New Idea, 

And still believ'd, as they were taught, 

God made the world just as He ought. 

That no suggestion, at its birth. 

Of theirs, would have improved its worth, 

Still thought, all threats to the contrary, 

That he was right, and would not vary. 

THK GATHERING OF THE SAINTS AT THE NEW JKKUSALKM. 

How sweet a sight it is to see 
All brethren dwell in unity, 
And when our own souls overflow 
With mirth or joy, or grief or woe, 
How sweet to make another feel 



118 THE MILLENIUM. 

.Inst as we do in woe or ^yeal! 
With this high purpose well defined 
And settled in the saintly mind, 
It was resolvVl at once to meet 
In conclave fall and there complete 
The ideal destiny of man 
In full accordance with their plan. 
St. Carlos first in power shone, 
(Although St. Andrew held the throne) 
For he, hy speeches and complaints, 
Became the leader of the Saints, 
And tho' he lack'd the smallest gifts 
Of leadership, yet hy make-shifts 
Which he had learn'd as theorizer. 
Became some sort an organizer ; 
Beyond all this he had the force 
Of earnestness, and this, of course, 
Outweigh'd all hrilliancy which man 
May have without specific plan. 
May God forhid that I should tear 
One feather from his cap, so rare 
Are honest men, for this he prov'd 
By giving life to what he lov'd, 
And to his very death helieved 
Himself Millenium had achieved. 
Xo wonder then with some disdain 
He frown'd on upstarts as they deign 
To intimate an equal share 
lu glory, which he could not spare, 
Yet while he nurs'd his sullen wrath, 
The others barricade his path. 
And in an unexpected hour 
Deprive him both of place and power. 
St. Simon old, and Oliver 
Usurped the place of Carlos dear, 
St. ITenr^\ in perfection bloomed 



THE MILLENIUM. 1 li» 

Whence Sinner Daniel was entombed, 

St. Thaddeus appeared in flames 

Above the last of Sinner James ; 

But one alone could dare to vie 

With him, and it was St. Cock-Eye; 

St. John, whose record in the West 

In years by gone was not the best, 

In almost equal splendor shone 

With any Saint so far made known, 

St. William with his little bell, 

Consigning Copperheads to Hell, 

Or Heaven, as the case may be, 

No matter which to such as he. 

Had first laid hands on horns of bull, 

*'In conflict irrepressible;" 

Sly Saint withal, that some thought he 

Was not more statesman than a flea, 

Who on the body politic 

Could dodge, escape, or hide, or stick. 

A WAR BREAKS OUT IX THE HOLY CITY. 

Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 
Let Sinners, — Saints must never fight 
Except their common foe, the Devil ; 
For more than this will come of evil, 
For if the Saints should disagree 
And smite each, how shall we, 
That is to say Sinners, decide 
Which is the ri^^ht or the wronor side ? 
But, notwithstanding, strife began 
In New Jerusalem, and ran 
From mouth to mouth till it became 
A saintly scandal and a shame. 
How it began behooves to tell. 
For in it Saints arose and fell ; 
Well, then, without more surmise, 



120 THE MILLENIUM. 

Began and euded in this Avise: 
St. Andrew, seeing a good cause, 
Rebelled against the saintly laws, 
Tnrn'd tale and fell, oh woful case ! 
Like Lucifer, at once from grace. 
The consternation at his fall 
Was universal; had the hall 
The Saints inhabit split asunder, 
Not more had been their fear or wonder. 
Then came the Jiercely blinded rage, 
Which only Saints of any age. 
Have ever felt, the force that lends 
Hell's fury to the Avorst of fiends. 
Religious bigot or fanatic, 
Or other madmen, so erratic, 
When foil'd in some hallucination. 
Their own pet project, or creation. 
Yet truth be said, '^ revenge is sweet," 
As much to human hearts that beat 
Beneath a surplice, as elsewhere, 
With this exception, God must share 
In all its glory, since no blame 
Must stick to deeds done in his name. 
These modern Saints with one accord 
Call'd first upon the Sovereign Lord, 
Then fell to work with all the vim 
Of devil (pardon) cherubim, 
St. A. in motion set the ball, 
St. George soon seconded the call ; 
This last imagined ''in the sky 
He saw a hole," but St. Cock-Eye, 
Did soon convince him, that instead 
Of sky, the hole was in his head, 
And then by force of nature bent. 
Ahead of all the rest he went 
And prov'd to all beyond a doubt, 



THE MILLENIUxM. 1-21 

St. Andrew must needs be kick'd out. 
Warm wax'd debate until it grew 
Not only fast, but furious too, 
Yet ev^ry sinner to a man, 
Who happen'd in that Saintly clan, 
Stood up for Andrew till the plan 
Of good St. A. had come to grief, 
By Sinner Andrew standing chief, 
A short time only, when he went ^ 

From power, privileged to vent 
. His si^leen, in private life and ease, 
And curse and damn St. Ulysses. 

TWO NEW SAINTS APPEAR — AND THE REIGN OF THE SAIXTS 

ON EARTH. 

The Saints, tho' feeling quite secure 
In x)ow'r and place, as yet were sore. 
At heretics, once nam'd before, 
Who still believed, all they could do 
These Saints were men, tho' it is true 
Has never seen the like before. 
Nor God's will, wish'd to see them more. 
The Saints, however cast about 
How to convert or get them out ; 
Let none infer our intents evil. 
In saying Saints oft need the Devil. 
Are we not told in Holy Writ, 
That *'Nick" tried Job to prove his grit ; 
That virtue is not worth a pin, 
Which never has rejected sin. 
And troops none dare in action call 
Are equal — ^just to none at all. 
Not in this sense do we intend 
To show our Saints right in the end. 
But more to show how sin sometimes, 
By proper use, condones its crimes, 
K 



122 THE MILLENIUM. 

Aud that to Saints access is given 
To Hell sometimes as well as Heaven, 
And that at times e^en Beelzebub 
To Saints distress\l will throw a tub. 

Well, be it so, the Saints began. 
With microscoi)ic eyes to scan 
Their ranks, to choose a proper man 
To undertake the dang'rous mission 
Of bringing sinners to condition. 
'Twas then the genius of Cock-Eye 
Triumphant shone and Ham'd on high,, 
That ev'ry eye upon the spot 
Left him to cut the Gordian knot, 
Tho' never he the credit got. 
St. Cock-Eye did a thing or two, 
Beyond what others ever knew, 
Who trod the plain and dusty way, 
Of dull routine, and would not stray. 
He knew that over-anxious Saints 
Would never vex him with complaints,, 
Nor that if he succeeded well. 
If came his agents out of Hell ; 
And so by means so intricate, 
That Hell or he alone could state, 
He brought about an interview 
With Beelzebub in order to 
See if his master could supply 
His need in this emergency. 
St. Cock-Eye told him of the strait 
The Saints were in, how very great 
The danger was ; how far and near 
They sought for some bold volunteer 
To face the music, that is teach 
The New Jerusalem and preach 
The Kingdom Come, whose very zeal 



THE MILLENIUM. 12:i 

Might ako cover what they steal. 

Quoth Beelzebub, *Mn my domain, 

O'er which I absolutely reigu. 

Is one whose spirit at beginning 

Consigned to me for heinous sinning. 

And whose allotted punishment 

Is that his spirit still be sent 

Continually to Earth to fill 

The heart of all his offspring still ; 

Tis he * whose base ignoble blood 

Has crept thro' scoundrels since the flood,' 

The same that in Messiah's day 

In Judas dwelt and did betray 

His Master for the jialtry pay 

Of thirty pieces ; thro' all time 

His name synonymous with crime, 

Traitor, liar, pimp and knave. 

Robber, villian, hound and slave, 

Incapable of ever knowing 

A better life, but ever growing 

In wickedness, and must, per force, 

Until the Judgment Day of course." 

St. Cock-Eye quoth, ^' Great Master, tell 

The name of this great Son of Hell, 

By your account, at once I see, 

This is the very thing for me f 

" His name, my Son, is Scalawag, 

His Cousin first, is Carpet-Bag, 

And from the way they work together, . 

You will conclude love one another." 

The bargain struck, St. Cock-Eye went 

To tell the rest the great event. 

Yet e're these hellish Saints could be 

Admitted in the family, 

Some regulations whereby Sinners 

Might seem to win, but not be winners, 



124 THE MILLENIUM. 

With them alike, were now drawn up, 
And Sinners told to drink the cup. 

And now the golden hour had come 

That hronght the great Milleninm, 

St. Carpet-Bag went on his way 

Rejoicing : ^' All hail the day 

That ushes in the great event 

Whereby in wealth and long content 

I pass my life ! My stars for once 

On me their wonted light renounce ; 

No more in prison must I wear 

My life away and burdens bear, 

At best no more in cock-loft spend 

My life without a crust or friend, 

W^ith acres broad and pastures new, 

A happy life will I pursue, 

With but one thing required to do, 

To praise the Saints and share the spoil, 

The Sinners dauin and bless the ' loil.'" 

His coadjutor, Scalawag, 

Like Judas, howe'er held the bag, 

But by a nice agreement made. 

Both shar'd the profits of the trade, 

Poor Sinners winc'd beneath the load, 

AVhile plodding on the rugged road 

Of reconstruction, yet thought best 

Their souls in patience were possest. 

Now, throughout all Utopia 

Supremely reign'd the New Idea 

That all the wisdom of the past 

Was only foolishness at last. 

Now Christian statesmen first were found 

Upon the earth — not underground, 

Now was it shown beyond a doubt, 

That Plato could be carried out. 



THE MILLENIUxM. l^r> 

Now could all heresy and schism, 

All doctrine, brochure, and each isui 

Be put in practice and no fool 

Be standing by to ridicule. 

Hail mighty era (to be plain) 

Ne^er seen before, nor will again, 

When all mankind stood just at par, 

The Sun, the Moon, and little star, 

All twinkled with an equal light 

In one wide Ethiopian night, 

The history past of human race 

Was nothing now but common place : 

No genius ever liv'd before. 

No poet ever dar'd to soar 

To steeps of such a giddy height 

In his imaginative flight. 

That could in madness thus excell 

Such scenes as to this age befell. 

Religious age, when law and love 

Together blend and sweetly move 

In unison, when politics 

And piety could meet and mix, 

The lion lying with the lamb, 

When Truth went coquetting with Sham, 

When rank conceit and impudence, 

For talents pass'd and common-sense 

W^hen silly ode and sorry pun 

Could vie with aught by Homer done. 

When windy words in long array. 

Blew great Demosthenes away ; 

When one wild patriotic blow 

Knock'd all the props frow Cicero, 

And sermons, but with folly fraught, 

Surpassed all Jesus ever taught. 



126 THE MILLENIUM. 

A AVAR liKEAKS OUT IN THE HOLY CITY — GREAT CONFUSION 
OCCASIONED THEREBY. 

How prone are mankind "svhen tbey fall, 

On human nature lay it all, 

And by such plea, expect to shun 

A condemnation for what's done, 

When Saints however fall away 

From grace, as certain church-men say, 

What cause on earth shall skeptics seek, 

As giving clue to such a freak ; 

For how can sinless natures stray 

In paths forbidden and away ; 

More so, whom, this want of power 

Of self-control in such an hour 

As this, when all men had agreed, 

Millenium had come indeed, 

Except a few poor reprobates 

Like lepers standing from the gates. 

But so it was, the war begun, 

Altho' St. Andrew long had gone, 

It seems the Saints that brought around 

Millenium at length had found 

Sufficient cause to break away, 

From Saints whose only aim was pay, 

Who under plea of holiness, 

Indulging in all wickedness ; 

St. Carlos the alarum gave — 

Expecting '' a great tidal wave,'^ 

To sweep at once from place and power 

The pseudo Saints that rul'd the hour ; 

St. Horace, their illustrious chief, 

Was figure head that lead to grief, 

Behind his back a motly throng 

Of noisy foll'wers, but not strong ; 

Fierce wax'd the fight throughout the land, 

Thick fell the shafts on either hand. 



THE MILLENIUM. 12: 

The sinners were not loath to join 

8t. Horace, so fell into line, 

St. Ulysses, who once had been 

The vilest sinner ever seen, 

Led on as presently we see 

The loyal Saints to victory ; 

In sooth, the war of words that sprung, 

Surpassed all Homer ever sung, 

St. Carlos launch'd out in a stream 

Of calumny that shook the beam. 

Of all Saintdom, so dark and deep, 

That Ulysses lost all his sleep ; 

St. Lyman, aided h}^ St. Carl, 

Plung'd madly, in the burning marl, 

The war in Heaven (pardon me), 

On earth was horrible to see ; 

" Villain, liar, knave and cheat" 

Were terms that crowded every sheet, 

Whilst saintly records, (what Nemesis) 

Were fairly riddled, torn in x>ieces ; 

St. Horace was as black a traitor 

As e'er disgrac'd human nature, 

St. Carlos base a hypocrite, 

As ever liv'd and saw the light ; 

St. Ulysses a drunken fool, 

Aspiring to monarchic rule, 

St. Henry but a knave or tool, 

Of his, St. Schuyler turn'd 

His face to West, he had been spurned, 

Kick'd out by Henry and his friends 

To gratify their selfish ends ; 

In short, the saints of each degree. 

From high to low, join'd in melee, 

But Ulysses prov'd more than match, 

For good St. Horace and his batch ; 

Them routed, horse, foot and dragoon. 



128 THE MILLENIUM. 

Dead, dead without the hope or boon, 
Of resurrection, late or soon. 

(IHEAT CONSTEKNATIOX IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. 

It had been said by way of hint, 
(So oft there seem'd be something in't.) 
During this tierce and hot debate, 
That something bad, or soon or late, 
Would be developed, whereby saint 
As well sinner would be taint ; 
What was before a campaign lie, 
And nail'd as such by sanctity. 
Now took such color, shape and size 
As to surpass all common lies, 
So far that it was claim'd the best 
To put it to the crucial test. 
St. James therefore with wrathful tone, 
Demanded that the facts be shown, 
And order'd a committee straight 
The ugly facts t'investigate. 

THE EXPLOSION — THE STARS FALL FROM IIEAVKN — GREA' 
WAILING IN THE HOLY CITY. 

Had some tierce earthquake crack' the ground 
And yawning abyss gap'd profound. 
Surprise and fear, not have been more 
Than struck each Saint upon the floor, 
Who felt his deeds, when brought to light, 
Would show an unmasked hypocrite ; 
They saw alas beyond recall 
The hand- writing on the wall. 
St. Schuyler first, oh oily Saint ! 
Whose smile all artists lov'd to paint, 
Whose *^ ready, swift and tuneful tongue '* 
Had Virtue's charms so often sung, 
The beau-ideal and model man 



THE MILLENIUM. 129 

Built up OQ Christian statesniau's plan, 

He saw, be lied, and gave a groan, 

'^ Othello's occupation's gone ;" 

Alas, all parliamentary rules 

To be immur'd in Sunday Schools, 

He fiercely battled to regain 

His lost estate ; it was in vain, 

His bloody head roU'd on the floor, 

And the great Smiler smiled no more; 

Aye dead, and to perdition went, 

For what ? alas, too much per cent. 

So with the rest, from day to day. 

And hour to hour thej^ pass'd away ; 

In life so lovel^^, 'twas decided, 

In death they should not be divided. 

THE END. 

Thus ends the great experiment. 
In manner needing no comment, 
Save that the hardy souls who bore 
The battle brunt in years before. 
Came out unscathed from that fierce lire 
That burnt the hypocrite and liar. 
St. Carlos, now to niem'ry dear, 
Thy soul was white, much as we fear 
Thy head was wrong, we drop a tear 
Above the dark and narrow bed. 
That covers the distinguish'd dead ! 
St. Horace, too, no venal train 
Of ideas throng'd thy busy brain, 
Sleep peacefullj, a nation's grief 
Will follow her eccentric chief. 

The ordeal past, the fever o'er, 
Vex'd. with Milleniums no more 
That come in such a doubtful shape 



130 ART vs. ARTIFICE. 

And thaDking God for such escape, 
Mild common-sense resumes her sway, 
Delirium Tremens passed away, 
The sequel proves beyond recall, 
That man is only man — that's all. 



ART VS. ARTIFICE 

A DIALOGUE. 



SCE.\E: STATITE-ROOH, CAPITOL, WASHINGTON, D. t 



TO MV FRIEND, HORATIO STONE, 

(Jfht) understands Ihe circumstajices under which this poem icas 
written, it is respectfully dedicated.) 



Artifice: 

Humph, sir, and then you don't believe 
The end of Art is to deceive, 
Nor that, unlike another trade. 
It may not summon to its aid 
Expedients which magnify 
Yourself before the vulgar eye ; 
And that in no conspicuous place 
True artists dare to show their face? 
Nonsense I one must advertise 
Their wares, or else nobody buys ; 
And without this, no one can rise. 
I should not start to hear you say 
''True Artists never work for pay, 
But their reward expect to find 
In unbought judgment of mankind, 



ART vs. ARTIFICE. 131 

Fame, or money." One can choose 
Which he will take ; I can't refuse 
To take them both, but much prefer 
A pile of lucre to the stir 
My fame may make; that is to say, 
I wish no fame that will not pay. 

Art: 
Art is Truth and Truth is An ; 
Both are but parcels and a part 
Of Beauty's universal law 
Apelles felt and Phidias saw. 
Nor can I e'er be made believe 
The end of Art is to deceive ; — 
That it should advertise itself 
By vulgar arts, producing pelf; 
By tricks to catch the common eye, 
Who idly gape, while standing by, 
As you the facile trowel ply — 
To re-adjust a shattered arm. 
Purposely broke — I mean no harm — 
But merely wish to criticise 
What deeply pains artistic eyes. 
Art has no tricks which serve to pass 
Or make an artist of ^n ass. 
Yes, I repeat all that I say — 
No genuine artist dreams of pay. 
E'en fame is but an afterthought 
That should be neither shunned nor sought; 
If given, taken as a part 
Of homage mankind yields to Art, 
For know you not that Genius can 
Be sep'rate and distinct from man 
Or woman, whom high Heaven deigns 
To bear its pleasures and its pains ? 
That mankind worship it, yet shun 



132 ART vs. ARTIFICE. 

Its owner, if that such an one 
Be found unworthy of that fame 
That gilds a consecrated name ? 
Ah ! know you not that artists lose 
Their best existence, if they choose 
The baser arts to magnify 
Their ideal children, and supply 
The vulgar appetite which craves 
A fool befitting moral slaves ; 
Who, conscious of their nakedness 
Of character, are wont to dress 
Their basest motives in a guise 
That might deceive an angel's eyes? 

Artifice : 

Nay, not so harshly; hear me speak — 

" Ends justify the means," I seek 

Substantial things. You dream about 

Prerequisites. I carry out 

My best designs; in life 'tis art 

That captivates the common heart, 

And wrings from a reluctant hand 

The pelf that one cannot command 

By force of genius. I defy 

The evil pen of calumny 

To WEiTE ME DOWN. It PAYS them best 

To Avrite me up ; and with what zest 

Their facile sentences aver, 

'' Blithe Artifice, none equal her.'^ 

What matter is it if I lack 

True genius ? I have the knack 

To pacify the hungry pack 

Of pseudo critics, fear no lash. 

While I am well supplied with cash. 

Have I not often and enough 

Five dollars paid them for a puff. 



ART vs. ARTIFICE. 133 

And wiitteu well enough to please 

A Phidias or an Apelles ? 

Your moral lectures will not do. 

Have I in Rome not studied too f 

Metaphysics are well enough 

In proper places, but such stuff 

Applied to Art, (I use you mild) 

Is like the babbling of a child. 

I find that brusqueness pays me best. 

I'll take the money — you the rest. 

A in' : 

No more ; I will not waste my words 
On one who without blushing herds 
With jyarven lies. No words reclaim 
A soul that glories in its shame, 
(3r prostitution, if such phrase 
Be apropos to one who weighs 
The soul of art for what it pays. 
Swindler ! By Art^s mighty name, 
By that Brotherhood I claim, 
I bid thee from my realm depart, — 
Thy very presence poisons Art. 
Go hence to sordid commonplace, 
The rostrum mount with shameless face, 
And gull the naught-denying masses 
Of would-be critics, fools, and asses ! 
Go preach to them, and demonstrate 
How soulless Art, with bitter hate. 
Hath followed you, while feeling men 
Have piped your praises with their pen. 
Create around the golden calf 
A sympathy in your behalf; 
Teach them again, if out of mind, 
*'A fellow-feeling makes us kind." 
Point to that weak and wanting face, 
L 



134 ART vs. ARTIFICE. 

Of streDgth devoid and manly grace, 
Make fools believe such is the jyose 
Of spirit mighty when the throes 
Of inward conflict on it flings 
A mountain of distasteful things ; 
Make them believe that guilty look, 
That stoop of shame from life you took ; 
Teach them, dispite all common-sense, 
You have committed no offence 
'Gainst Nature first, and then to Art, 
At once by this base counterpart. 
Aye, teach them better, for they would 
Imagine it some Robin Hood 
Or Claude Duvall, with face denied 
The traces of highwayman pride ; 
Where ev'ry look and feature i)leads 
But guilty to the darkest deeds. 
Explain also the mighty bother 
In making one leg long as ^' tother" — 
How, had they both been parallel, 
Thy cliief (Vmivre had not stood, but fell ; 
To end it all, exclaim, when done, 
" This is the Second Washington ! " 
This do, and Art may yet condone 
Such grave oifences to her shown ; 
And wounded taste a joy ovrn 
That uiust be foreign to her heart 
While such abortions pass for Art. 
Intrigue, cajole, do as you please, 
But do not saddle Art wilh these, 
Which but perpetuate disgrace 
Upon the noblest of the race. 
Go, and with polluted arts, 
And impudence, supplanting parts 
Impress the gaping crowds who gazo 
With admiration at your ways ; 



VIRGINIA. 135 

Stand on the corners of the street, 

Lift up your voice and compete 

With auctioneers, and all that ilk 

Who barter garden truck and milk ; 

Like them enjoy that content 

That springs from getting good per cent. 

For bargains struck, for these are part 

Of trade alone, and not of Art. 

Success ^ill follow if you try, 

For there no doubt your talents lie. 

There flippancy and ready wit 

And want of conscience always hit. 

Art has no hits ; and so, of course. 

In following it, your last resource 

Is wholly lost. Take my advice, 

And sell thy wares, for any price 

Would be a bargain to the crier — 

You do not care as to the buyer. 

But leave to me this hallow'd spot, 

Already marr'd by many a blot. 

No more. I bid the stand aside, 

Since thou art wantixg found when tried. 



VIRGINIA. 



DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, C. X. MATHEWS, OF WYTHEVILLE, VA. 

Dear "Mac,'- the House adjourned and gone 

To their constituents to condone 

For past offences by a lease 

On private life that shall not cease ; 

As was my wont when you were here, 

Without affection, favor, fear, 

T now resume a caustic pen 



!::;; VIRGINIA. 

To perforate our little men. 

How oft this tliouo'ht conies in my head 

What hoots it that a man's well read ; 

Why study Latin, classic Greek, 

And French so well that one can speak 

As fluently as un Francals, 

Wheu dunces rule and fools obey 1 

Why need one, when an eager youth 

From Fiction glean as well as Truth 

Such nohle sentiments, to stand 

Beneath the asses of the land ? 

He feels the pangs of keenest kind, 

Who prostitutes a noble mind. 

Who ever does, by tongue or pen, 

For sake of pay, puff little men 

So much that even dunces do 

Believe themselves a Richelieu : 

For asses have a right to bray 

When genius sells itself for pay, 

And rest contented with a lot. 

That any blockhead might have got. 

But, asses, hear me ! when I vow 

On you to war henceforth from now, 

To wring, without remorse or dread, 

The lion's skin from off your head. 

Until henceforth, instead of ears. 

The carcass and whole head appears : 

Till he, who did for statesman pass, 

Be shown just what he is— an ass. 

Constituents, see the error they 

Fell into on '* Election Day,'' 

And, by experience taught and vexed, 

Take care to mend it at the next. 

Example apropos have we,— 

A certain ass: alias, M. C, 

Who hither came, (let it be known,) 



VIRGINIA. i:^7 

Whence Henry and John Randolph shone, 
Who gapes and yawns, by Fortune placed, 
In halls that Clay and Webster graced, 
Where Randolph, with incessant wit, 
Aim'd at the mark and always hit, 
Where dunce and Puritanic fool 
To nothing shrunk from ridicule 
Heap'd on by that unsparing hand, 
That flay'd the asses of the land. 
And here he sits (God save the phrase) 
The dunce, who would in Randolph's days,^ 
Have been, by terms at his command, 
The laughing-stock of all the land. 

Virginia, great and glorious State, 
Great as thou art, perforce such weight 
Must sink thee, or become by rules 
Infallible, the home of fools ; 
Where wit and talent overslaughed, 
The dunce may merit still defraud 
Of all its rights, by accident 
Slip into places never meant 
For such as spend their lives by halves. 
In breaking colts, or salting calves ; 
Who without sense enough to sin 
Themselves, can cry down clever men, 
Whose greatest errors, as a rule, 
Excel the wisdom of a fool. 

Proud Mother, could'st thou substance take. 
In human form for Truth's own sake, 
And hither come, thine eyes would see 
Thy children's pride — a mockery I 
Wouldst see one son with talents fair 
Enough perhaps to fill the chair 
Of such societies as harp 



13* VIRGINIA. 

About the meiits of '' Bill Arp,"" 

Or else explain the Golden Rule' 

To children of a Sunday School, 

A sprightly, windy, legal chap, 

Who thinks the whole world on the niap^ 

Of his own county, which contains 

Towms, mountains, rivers — hut no brains }■ 

Would'st see this son with talents fair, 

Arise in place, address the Chair, 

In tones that sound like squeaking hare 

As urchins drag it from its lair, 

While loud guffaws of laughter ring 

At speaker — not the spoken thing, 

Yet he, poor soul, convinced the while, 

His wit that makes them laugh and smile^ 

Subsides amid a gen'ral roar, 

From cloak-room, gallery, and floor. 

While Mercy weeps and Justice frowns 

To know thy champions are clowns ! 

Another, whose stentorian roar, 

Like bull a neighbor's bent to gore, 

Arises in his place to shake 

His fist and horrid grimace make, 

Tho' taxing ev'ry nerve and joint 

Yet fails at last to make a point. 

Subsides amid the gen'ral peal 

Of merriment to make Thee feel 

The stings of wounded pride and shame 

At ridicule of thy proud name. 

Enough to make thee curse the hour 

That brought such dunces into power. 

Again, behold another stands. 
Look at the motion of his hands 
Which chop the air as if he would* 
Imagine it a log of wood. 



VIRGINIA. 131> 

Which by incessant chops and knocks 
He fain would fashion into blocks. 
Out of an idea, he begun, 
Now out of wind — the speech is done. 

Once more, Fond Mother, strain thine eye. 
See if thou can'st that vacancy ! 
Look, look at that imposing front, 
That seat of brain where ideas hunt. 
Like Noah's dove, above the deep ; 
Why take the dunce, he's fast asleep I 

Not so, proud Mother; put up thy dagger I 
Great Ciesar was no Carpet-bagger; 
Stain not thy garments with the blood 
''That's crept thro' scoundrels since the flood I" 

Couldst thou with thine imperial eye 
Behold such scenes thy heart would die 
Within thee, like the virtuous dame 
Of Eome, who slew herself for shame. 
Great State, why should a son of thine 
In thy proud annals seek to shine. 
When dance and ass and knave and fool 
Not only aspire, but even rule I 
Thank God, there dawns a brighter day 
When talent shall resume its sway, 
When accidents be made return 
To breaking clods and hoeing corn, 
Be taught that it is dangerous still, 
This running counter to God's will, 
That all things with peculiar grace 
Shine best in their appointed place ; 
If otherwise, expect to find 
In me a stubborn foe, so kind 



140 VIRGINIA. 

To all and any who desire 

In their own places to aspire, 

Take note, the pen jaw-bone surpasses, 

For it hath slain ten thousand asses. 



Si$C0Estiiiuttf §^^$m$. 



THE RETROSPECT. 



A RAMBLING POEM, DP:DICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER. 

It is midnight now, and the silent earth 
Is wrapt in darkness, and no sound is heard 

Save the lonely oavI's, the halls of mirth 
Are tenantless, and, save the moaning bird, 

I am alone and feeling just so near 

Of being bodiless as one can be here. 

The pale starlight but twinkles dimly througli 
The shattered pane where I have bent my gaze, 

Capricious sleep has bidden me adieu 

In search of those whom woe nor joy sways. 

Who in bright dreams traverse the worlds of light, 

And in Elysium spend the blackest night. 

But why so restless, why not one resign 
His wear}' mind to Lethe's sweet embrace. 

Or why will not our anxious hearts recline 
In Hope's sweet cradle and contrive to chase 

The butterflies of fancy, as real there. 

In the land of shadows, as they are elsewhere! 

But none may tell why past existence 
Obtrudes itself at an unwelcome hour 

And e'en conquers Nature's own resistance, 
Compelling us to retrospect and pour 

The strength united of spirit soul and brain 

On scenes forgotten — we cannot explain. 



142 THE RETROSPECT. 

Yet I begin, at first, an irksome lot. 

Recall tlie scenes where youthful feet first strayed ; 
And, as I yield, impressions long forgot, 

Are re-awaken'd, and the light and shade 
Of former pleasures kindle in my heart 
A joy, of which I dream'd not at the start. 

The sweet bye-gone I Ah, yes, the happy hours 
Of young existence ; aye the better time 

Of innocent youth, ere the ripen'd powers 
Of manhood stern connive or covet crime. 

Ere passions lava, boiling in our breast. 

Consumed to ashes the brightest and the best. 



Till by degrees we all in sin advance, 

Wrong in ourselves, our fellows we suspect, 

A dozen outward for one inward glance, 
That we in others may some flaw detect 

To balance ours, mankind are happiest when 

They are no better nor worse than other men. 



There is a moral in retrospection, 

A duty important we ever owe. 
Not to ourselves, but to each connection, 

Father, Mother, still oftener, a foe. 
And if the fount of life so bitter seem 
Our hands, may be, pour'd poison in the stream. 

But I have wauder'd, and now return 

To sweeter thoughts of innocence and love, 

To purer life, and when my soul could spurn 
What bore no impress to the life above ; . 

For though to man supplies of grace be given, 

Youth is the time when he is next to Heaven. 



THE KETROSPECT. 14:^ 

Ah, yes! the mem'ry qf some early scene, 
Made sacred and sweet by the heart's first love, 

Surpasses all the sterner joys of men, 
And is just but next to a life above. 

Deceitful Time may promise us far more, 

But never, gives the bliss we had before. 

The quaint old swing, hard by the road, where oft 

At eventide we threw all care away. 
Some well-known comrade pushing ns aloft, 

Then crouch'd beneath to give us greater play 
For strokes mofe potent, that we might excel 
Tom, Dick, or Harry, as the case befell. 



At other times, along the shaded brook, 

*^Sheeing" to comrades that they must not talk ; 

As in silence baiting the barbed hook. 
Or gazing intently at the dancing cork, 

As luckless minnow nibbled at the bait 

As if to toy with his very fate. 



Ah! how our young hearts were throbbing tlien 
With hope and fear, and Caesar never knew 

In all his conquests such a joy as when 

Forth from the brook our shining prize we drew 

When comrades all, with wonder^Avaitiug eyes, 

W^ould crowd around and gaze upon the prize. 



*^My stars!" anon some boy would exclaim, 
*^ He is a whale ; it is a real wonder 

Your linens not broke:" soon after, vow the same, 
'' Indeed the fish they just saw passing under 

That ledge of rock ; " while others say we struck, 

What older gamblers term, '' a streak of luck." 



144 THE RETROSPECT. 

At length au urchin, smaller than the rest, 

Would, in his turn, get what he calFd " a bite ;" 

With mighty jerk, with force enough to wrest 
A young sea-serpent ; but, oh woful sight! 

The Ashless hook entangled in a bough, 

His mighty joy was turned to anguish now. 



This season past, came on the dismal hour, 

When ''off to school! " became the morning cry, 

The boyish prayer that sudden rain might pour, 
The disappointment of a naked sky; 

One joy was yet, and this, with cheer and shout. 

We signalized whenever school let out. 



Short-liv'd however, these idle hours 

Seem'd swifter now than when, as erst, we chased 
Hope's butterflies through the pretty flowers 

That our childish fancy had so naively placed 
In all lifes pathway; could such things but last 
Forever, our heaven ne'er would be past. 



A plain log-hut, whose walls had long withstood 
The pelting storms, until its shingles were 

Far more like moss than to their native wood, 
Was first the spot where we were forc'd to hear 

The name of learning ; all our stock, just then. 

In monosvllables — such as do^r and hen. 



Mountains impress us with a sense sublime ; 

Hills are forgotten as we speed along. 
But till the last letter of recorded time 

Has spelt our life and pronounced it wrong, 
Can we forget, tho' years our sense befog, 
That dreadful man, our primal pedagogue. 



THE RETROSPECT. 145 

We see him still reclining in his chair, 

His legs extended and his eyes intent 
Upon some problem, tngging at his hair, 

And all forgetful ; we, on mischief bent, 
Improv'd our chance to hurl a paper ball 
At some one's head, or else against the wall. 

What bashful boy does not recollect 
His first sensations as he enter'd school, 

The awful stare, the quick glance to detect 
Each faulty movement, feeling like a fool. 

And half resolv'd to either laugh or cry, 

Without doing either, not knowing why. 

The irksome hours of simulated study, 

Catching anon the ready teacher's eye. 
And then an idea, undefin'd and muddy, 

Of what this means, how long to last, and why, 
Until worn out he drops off in a doze. 
But soon awakes, as some one pulls his nose. 

Endless almost the study-hours seem 

Ere playtime comes; indeed, it is an age I 

The wheel of time seems running to a team 
Of sloths and snails, while the dirty page 

Of thumb-eaten primers would at once construe, 

That if not learning, we are getting through. 

It comes at last, but never came too soon 
For boys expectant, fond of fun and sport. 

And more attractiv^e than maps of earth or moon. 
Our playing- ground, than any map in short. 

Who cares, ere he '• is smit wnth love of learniiii>," 

To know if earth be standing still, or turning ? 
M 



146 THE KETROSPECT. 

Let war delight the rugged hero's soul, 

Let battle fierce soothe him with bloody charms, 

His ear delight the murder-telling roll 
Of musketry, and yet the clash of arms 

Seems tasteless to one whom mem'ry conveys 

To the mild enjoyments of his younger days. 

But they have vanished : scarce enjoy'd ere gone, 
Parcel and part of all we left behind ; 

And scenes we knew will never more be known 
Save as a part of imperishable mind. 

Like those sweet beams that gild the setting sun, 

They brighten'd our youth, and their work was done. 

The primer, anon, is laid aside, and then 
Came tougher studies, such as do require 

A deal of thinking by heads of wiser men 

Than our good old teacher's, who could aspire 

To naught beyond the '' Double Rule of Three." 

We pass him by — tears to his memorj^ 



What next on programme f Boarding school of course 
The trunk is pack'd, and oif again we go. 

To reap fresh sorrow from another source ; 

Hard study, high price, all such things as llow 

To the full complement of first-class schools, 

V/here all things, even food, must go by rules. 



We had our share at least of rancid butter. 
Insipid hash restew'd a dozen times, — 

A fluid with live full parts of water 

To one of milk, — no wonder then that rliymes 

Not fit for eyes polite nor ears acute, 

Adorn'd our walls, wrath cannot long be mute. 



THE RETROSPECT. 147 

Such is the dark side, for despite all this 
There is a pleasure in the first sensation 

Of heing ador'd hy some country Miss, 

Who deems a boarder the hope of the nation. 

To he lionised is not unpleasant, 

Tho' it he done hy a jiretty peasant. 



Sweet romance I ere the youthful heart is '^smit 
With the love of learning," when some fair face 

Is become our idol and we worship it 
With such security that it leaves no trace 

Of inward disquiet on the placid brow 

For deceit and auguish are strangers now. 

This is Heav'n, this the sweet Elysian 
That poets write about and lovers feel 

Ere interest chills it with cold decision, 
Or age can laugh at all our mighty zeal. 

Ere jealousy becomes a serious joke, 

And we are hamper'd by the older folk. 

But this is past, and now the little scene 
'' Grows beautifully less," for cubic feet 

And square root were never friends I ween 
To love and fancy ; naught that may be sw eet : 

A sure panacea for all such ills 

Is time and study, for this always kills. 

And all is chang'd; too sad! for our sweetheart now 
Has ceas'd to love us, and for aught we know, 

Loves a sunburnt rustic ; yet she did vow 
That she did love us, and w^e all thought so, 

But time convinced her we were insincere 

And she's forsaken us this manv a vear. 



MS THK ki:trospect. 

Lilf\s bill tic ill t^nnirsl, and all the rest 
Was but a lirchidc to that stern array 

Of nii'iital forces, ])rlz() to b(^ possost, 

All that striplinnjs craves wo jinibi lion's day 

Hath dawn'd in sph'iidcr: thcsii an* but rays 

Thai herald the conu't in its lurid blaze. 



Now may be seen, e'en at the niidni<»lit hour, 
'I'he ]>al(^l'acM studcni })orin^ o'er his book, 

()bli\ious of all thin«rs, save tlu^ silent power 
or his busy th()u«;hts, as with [)U/z1(h1 look 

11(^ lifts his eyes and bends their steady gaze 

Into uii^ht's (l(»ep darkness where the watch-dog bays. 

Wrapt in fit of i)leasing niedilation 

lb' falls asleep, and fancy takes hitn back 

To her and the- little infatuation. 

That has been nientiou'd iu his youthful track, 

lie sleei>s an hour, and thon — awak<\s to lind 

His lanj}) is gon«\ or else he must be blind. 

SouK' little rascal, with nothing els(^ to do, 

Terfornis this trick, but ^' look out, inner mind," 

He'll ^^W revengM " and make him sadly rue 
His fine delight ; for surely can he lind 

Somt^ cunning con/'rcrc who is too w illing 

To givt' him no (]uarter, but a '' killing." 

An hour more and all the house is still 

Save the heavy snoring of the roguish chap 

Who to(dv his lamp, and on him he w ill 
Take his revenge as he takes his nap, 

With a cat-like tread to his couch h(^ doth go 

And tiiMli a cord to his major to<'. 



THE RETROSPECT. M'.» 

Poor fellow ! ho is dreainin*^ hadly now ; 

How his face contorts as wo draw tho rope, 
Dreams ho is fallin*; from a summits' brow, 

And feels tho last throes of expirin<; liojx' ; 
The pain increases and his <;roaiis l)e<;in, 
Awakes, and fmds that he is taken in. 



These an^ th(5 pleasant little interludes, 
Ere the curtain rises for another part 

In the melo-drama of verbs and moods, 
A short rehearsal of the ma^^ic art, 

That thrills mankind, ere from tho schools we 

To <jjarner fruit or reap the S(M'ds wo sow. 



:'<► 



A st(*p yet hi^^her, and ourselves we lin<I 
In eelle<;<^ walls, and very soon b(^<;in 

T'accommodate a <;rammar-sated mind 
To tho rich viands of this mental inn, 

Wliero lectures, latin and Aristotle 

Are eramniM ot nxissc down our nuMital throttle. 



Few gay professors are known to shart^ 
The honors of professorship, but uumi 

Whoso minds Avero made to split a moral hair, 
And always ket^p their risibles within ; 

Whose very faces, hatchet -like and long, 

Ik'speak a digestion not worth a song. 

ConlirmVl dyspeptic, who would not pity ? 

All lite a blank indeed to such as ho; 
Without enjoyment of what is witty, 

Can drink no cotfeo, is forbidden tea, 
Must live on food his appetite detests. 
Adhere to physic, while he seotfs at jests. 



150 THE RETROSPECT. 

It was ever thus, and as a tbiDg of course 

Will so remaiD, some blurring fault will mar; 

Some hidden poison found in ev'ry source 
Of human pleasure, clouds for ev'ry star, 

And worst of all, in such a spot as this, 

An old dyspeptic marr'd our college hliss. 



We managed by some means to conciliate 
The other professors : this wretched one 

Was made for a purpose, (as if by fate) 
To prove experience does not faulty run : 

That Nature ne'er forsakes a general rule, 

To pacify impetuous boys at school. 

Perennial joy has never yet been found, 
Tho' sought by all in this world of sorrow ; 

Some discord dwells e'en in the sweetest sound ; 
Man without trouble will contrive to borrow ; 

One little ill he nurses, till a score 

Fill up the void, where was but one ht^fore. 

Some men are vile, immeasurably vile, 
Grac'd with an angel, (pardon us, a wife,) 

Are never cheerful in her loving smile : 

Their preference seeming on the side of strife, 

Which seems more congenial to their natures 

Than all the grace of angelic creatures. 



Poor wife I in one moment she cannot tell 
What follows next : "Did I not tell you so; 

The meat is overdone, the bread is stale, 
Pray tell me Madame, I should like to know ; 

And the tea and coffee, God help the cook, 

Or the wqfe, whose business Avas to overlook ! " 



THE RETROSPECT. 1->1 

No accident on either field or farm 

But what she gets an undeserving share 

Of cutting speeches ; innocent of harm 
And ready to obey, yet he does not spare : 

And still such men seem to have better wives 

Than good men get, who spend such wretched lives. 

Reader, this is no connected story 

As you can see ; our former theme 
Was the old professor, whose greatest glory 

Tormenting youth, we now recur to him ; 
And at this point, before we deviate, 
Occurrd an episode, which we relate. 

Hard by the college walls there us'd to feed 
A steady farmer, all his flocks and herd ; 

Among the rest a weather-beaten steed, 
^'Old as the hills,'^ this fact has been averred 

By at least a dozen, who seemed to know 

How old the hills w^ere: this no matter thoujrh. 



One stormy night six of us sallied forth 
With roi^es and bridle to secure the prize, 

His loretop seiz'd ; the bridle in his mouth, 
And led him back, no bandage to his eyes, 

For he was blind, and should he get away, 

Be catechised, he could but answer, '* nay." 

The old professor had a lecture-room 

Reach'd by a stair, and hereat we proposed 

To play our joke, and if not all, get some 

Revenge for wrongs we sulfer'd and supposed, 

So to this room with muffled feet we bore 

Bucephalous, came out and shut the door. 



15-2 THE RETROSPECT. 

As to our programme, it ^vas merely this: 
To put our prize iu the professor's room, 

And lest our meaning should seem amiss, 
Adorn him with goggles and thus assume 

To be professor, or some other fraud, 

Whom genteel people have long since outlawed. 



So in this hali, where so much wisdom sat. 
The poor old steed went idly tramping round ; 

Long, lank and lean, and blind as any bat, 

Unconscious, too, for aught we knew, of sound 

Back to our beds with stealthy steps we trod. 

Await events to come with morning's god. 

The morning came, and yet no one coukl tell, 

How came this creature to a hall of learning. 
Some boy guess'd ; no boy guesses well 

At such a time, his talent for discerning- 
Effects and causes is confus'd and weak. 
And his true opinion submits to '^ cheek. '' 



% 



'' Thanks,'' we had no little George and hatchet 
Within our ranks, and yet we could not lie; 

Had been in scrapes, and knew how to match it, 
Which was, when question'd, to utter no reply 

The college court in solemn conclave met 

To sift the case and see what they could get. 

Now, old dyspeptic had before foresworn 
His solemn purpose to at once depart 

Unless the offender were made to mourn 
In penance first and feel the bitter smart 

Of quick expulsion, for he would not stay 

Where disrespect were shown him night and day 



THE RETROSPECT. 153 

It must be fated that all bands of uieu, 

Howe'er cordial and compact they be, 
Must nourish some traitor, or spy within, 

Exposing secrets better men than he, 
But i^erhaps no ^Yiser, have to him imparted, 
Base, treach'rous and false and hollow-hearted. 

Ours was exception to the geu'ral rule, 

All our comrades faithful to the letter, 
The grim professor bade adieu to school, 

He vengeance vowing — we felt the better : 
Supreme contempt and united action 
Had prov'n superior to the college faction. 

Hours of emulation, when prose essays 
In Greek and Latin the order of the day, 

The cramming art, a hundred other ways 
Mankind invent for making a display 

On set occasions, when multitudes repair 

To places nam'd, to be astonished there. 



The day is come, to us the dreadful day. 

Known as '-commencement," and the building ringa 
With rival bands, and when professors gray 

In learning's service, and other bookish things 
Are in abundance in conspicuous places, 
With multitudes peering into their pale faces. 

Our sweethearts too are in attendance then 
To torture us with their expectant eyes. 

Which more than say, ^'Now quit yourselves like men, 
And don't forget to win my promis'd prize I '' 

The prize is won and our bliss complete, 

And our loved one's glances make it doubly sweet. 



154 THE RETROSPECT. 

The farce is ended, and gladly we receive 
Well-earned diplomas, and at once depart 

To other fields, where merit can achieve 
Its sure reward, and where no pert upstart 

Can rob us of them, and where our deeds decide 

AVhether the judges were deceiv'd, or lied. 

II. 

Sweet Mother, much mine erring feet have strayed 
In paths forbidden alike by God and man ! 

Tho' I have drain'd sin's veriest dregs and made 
My life a curse and marr'd the beav'nly plan 

Of my redemption, never at thy door 

Can this be laid, I am alone impure. 

The senseless clods inclose the narrow urn 
That contains thy ashes; this heart of mine 

Shall inclose thy mem'ry while life shall burn, 
And a ceaseless fire at its altars shine 

In silent worship at the shrine of one 

AVho was my Mother ; but I now have none. 

Ah, Mother, if ever in thy pure abode 
Of bliss celestial, a prayer be made 

For tempted mortals, groaning 'neath a load 
Of leaden sorrow in a land of shade, 

Pray thou for one whose early misspent 

Would of his sins in riper years repent! 

For next to God and his Anointed Son, 
A Mother knows the nature of her child, 

Its very soul and bers are partly one. 

Since from its birth an heir to passions wild; 

She nurses it from infancy to man, 

In that short life, which is at best a span. 



THE RETROSPECT. 155 

Standing above thy dark and narrow bed, 
And looking at it, comes the solemn thought, 

I may have wronged or griev'd the hallow'd dead, 
Gave harsh replies when I should have said naught, 

By evil deeds inflicted wo and pain, 

In secret caused her tears to flow like rain. 



No more of this; sucli thoughts would break my heart, 
Grieve Thee in Heav'n had they but access there. 

From life's dark side and to the brighter part 
I gladly turn and seek again to share 

In thy remembrance — that of joys past. 

When Thou wert with me, and time sped fast. 



Oh, merry youth! I love to dwell with thee : 
A thread of romance permeating all 

The magic cord that thrills and raptures uio 
Whene'er touch'd, or, when I it recall, 

A bright existence stretching to the fount 

Of life almost, I take into account. 

Romantic hours! ere solid science came 

To strip us of phantasies, and when the sound 

Of growling thunder and the lurid flame 
Of zigzag lightnings were strangely bound 

With deeper mysteries, unseen by eyes, 

Whose end of faith is what they scrutinize. 



I see again the aged cherry tree 

With all its sweet and luscious fruit, where I 
At eventide, from school restrictions free. 

Have nimbly climb'd and threw down from on high 
Some pretty bunch, and ho])'d thereby to gain 
A smile from Lucv or a kiss from Jane. 



156 THE RETROSPECT. 

A first love: cau there, will there, ever be 
A mem'ry to come so heav'nly as this; 

So gilded with sanctity, and so free 

From dregs that spoil the cups of riper bliss f 

Will e'er rainbow as sweet again arise 

To gladden our hearts or thus adorn our skies ? 

And then the days of feasting, '^ dining day" 
As it was callM, when Dick and Harry came 

To sport with me ; meanwhile our parents stay 
About the house, discussing duck and game, 

While we, not cumber'd with such weighty themes, 

Rov'd thro' the fields, or paddled in the streams. 

Ah, me; since nevermore shall I with joy 
See them again, the senseless, silent earth 

Contains the form of many a charming boy. 

My boon companions, gone from scenes of mirth 

To endless life ; by far a sweet exchange 

Of earthly bliss i\)T Heaven's boundless range. 



One fair-hair'd brother went early to his grave, 
Bedew'd with tears that mothers only shed 

O'er the bier of a lov'd one, ere she gave 
The hallow'd kiss, and then the narrow bed 

Receiv'd the body yielded to its trust. 

Till God again shall raise it from the dust. 

Others surviv'd and bore with me the brunt 
Of deadly battle, when the leaden hail 

Mow'd down the gallant hearts that stood in front. 
And the death-angel cali'd them to its pale. 

Their bones lie bleaching on battle-field and plain, 

Their bodies onlv — their souls were ne'er slain. 



THE RETROSPECT. IC? 

Now far remov'd from eacli familiar scene 

Of early life, I'm fated to survey 
The sea of blood that rolls its depths between 

All that I loved, ere came the direful day 
When sounds of conflict rent the Southern sky, 
And ''Dixie's Land" became the battle-cry. 

Our land was girt within, without with foes. 
And we were toss'd as when a leaf is torn 

From itvS parent stem by a gale that blows 
From chance's realm and is then idly born 

Where'er it lists : four years of blood and strife, 

Ere we could lick our batter'd limbs to life. 



Corruption follows carnivals of blood, 

Impregns the State with its pernicious seeds, 

Creaks down the teachings of the great and good, 
Depletes the Treasury while the nation bleeds 

At ev'ry pore and then evades the same 

By ea^y pardons, and glories in the shame. 

But these are days of shame: men glory now 
In deeds a heathen would not dare to do ; 

Black infamy would rest upon their brow, 
And that in lands whose gods are not the true. 

Why prate of Progress? Until we cleanse 

Our Auirean stables, fear not foreiirn sins. 



Look in those Halls where Clay and Webster shone, 
Where Calhoun, dignified, severe and grave, 

Respect commanded, where Benton's tone 
Rang out to all and full assurance gave 

Of innate greatness ; see a people's pride 

The laughing-stock for all the world beside! 
N 



158 THE RETROSPECT. 

Dumb-founded ignorance in those sacred chairs, 
And corruption stalking in all its shapes ^ 

Hating that greatness, which at best but shares 
The sympathies of few ! How can such apes, 

Who dwell on honesty, a thing they never knew^ 

Attempt reforms? — their downfall if they do. 

Immortal Plato ! never yet hath man 
Approached thine ideal ; ruin and decay 

Sap all the pillars of thy perfect plan ; 
Corruption sweeps the edifice away. 

Great Rome it took three centuries to die, 

But ours totters ere a decade goes by! 

What boots it now if that a despot's sway 
Or sceptred monarch be our Fed'ral head ? 

Thy spirit. Freedom, long since pass'd away! 
We court thy shadow and worship in thy stead 

A hollow mockery ; our love is lust ! 

Our liberty, license ! false gods our trust ! 

From scenes so sickening in disgust we turn 
Our mind's eye backward, ling'ring to survey 

The purer life for which our spirits yearn, 
The rosy hoars of boyhood's brighter day, 

And strive with sweet illusions to forget 

Our country's shame, our sun of glory set. 

^Tis not our wish nor purpose to imbrue 
Our souls in seething pools, but cultivate 

A love for beauty from a lofty view, 

O'erlooking (if can be) our ruin'd State; 

Convinc'd, at last, some hero will arise. 

Avenge our wrongs— give freedom to our skies. 



IMOGEN. 159 



IMOGEN 



When she is seen, 
Mine eyes behold 
A being cast 
In Beauty^s monld, 
Whose presence more 
Than breathing clay. 
Or soulless things 
That pass away; 
Her eyes have more 
Than brilliant glance ; 
They have the charm 
Of sweet romance ; 
Her lips speak more 
Than uttered words, 
Or dulcet notes 
Of soulless birds ; 
Her life is more 
Than merely human ; 
Her being more 
Than merely woman ; 
A child of light 
Beneath the skies, 
An angel in 
An earthly guise ; 
She^s Heav'n^s best, 
Vouchsav^d to man, 
The keystone in 
Creation^s plan ; 
The fairest gift, 
The brightest gem 
That decks creation's 
Diadem. 



160 SOME TRUTHS ABOUT LYING. 

Sweet Lady ! boni 
To beautify 
With sweetest eliarm 
The social sky ! 
Who looks ou tliee 
Exeei>t to \o\e, 
Is dead to all 
The joys above. 
The dull in soul 
Mayhap can see 
No real charm ; 
Not so is he, 
Whose soul hath kept, 
In spite of fate, 
Some tokens of 
Its first estate. 
Sweet Maid of dark 
Celestial eyes, 
May Heaven's sweet, 
Serenest skies 
Look down ou Thee, 
Where'er Thou art! 
So sweet in mind, 
So pure in heart. 



SOME TRUTHS ABOUT LYING 



If lying be ''the vice of slaves/' 
And. cheating added, that of knaves, 
Then cheating, lying, both combined, 
Are parts and. parcels of mankind. 
The maiden lies to save her beauu 
From what old bell-dames wish to know 
The merchant lies to make a cent. 



SOME TRUTHS ABOUT LYING. 161 

Says ^' what he says, is what he meant ; " 

The fashionable ladies say, 

^' Pray, won't you call another day ! 

I am so pieas'd to see; '^ oh, no, 

She meant so pieas'd to see you go ; 

The Juckless suitor raps the door, 

His sweetheart, on the upper floor, 

Tells Agnes, w^hen this beau shall come, 

To say, *^ Young Miss is not at home." 

Perhaps she meant this lie to trim, 

By meaning not at home— for him. 

But then, some old philosopher, 

Whose name we need not mention here, 

Has given the philosophy 

Of what is properly a lie ; 

And lying, if we may believe 

His theory, is to deceive : 

If so, there's not a grain of doubt, 

We were all liars, if found out. 

Who ever " wishes pleasant day " 

To bores, who wear his life away, 

Is lying ; and he knows it too, 

And damns him ere he's out of view. 

Who has not felt a sense of pain 

When saying *' Wont you call again ? " 

Nor felt as if his gizzard smiled. 

When forc'd to praise an ugly child ? 

What is the reason, then, we ask ? 

Truth's too severe, and needs a mask. 

It would not do to say on sight, 

" Why, Miss, you are a perfect fright," i 

Nor damn the coffee, when it takes. 

The skin from off your tongue and makes. 

The tears come welling in your eye, 

Nor seem'd perplex'd when babies cry ; 

When toes are crush'd you must not wince. 



162 SOME TRUTHS ABOUT LYING. 

But say politely, '^ no offence ! '^ 
When Miss is homely you must pay 
Your compliments, or she will say, 
In secret to another lass, 
'^ There sits a most provoking ass ! 
I wonder why the fates invent 
Men so devoid of sentiment ! 
To say the least, he might have said 
\ A good word for the book I read. 
And complimented me, instead 
Of beauty, on my classic head. 
The book so full of life and flash, 
The brute pronounc'd ^ all silly trash ; ^ 
Instead of this, occasion took 
To compliment a stale old book 
Which treats about the ^ moral law ' 
Of which I never read or saw." 
Do parsons lie ? Yes, even they 
Are piously inclin'd that way 
When not too strict in what they say. 
And frequently, to make a point. 
Knock truth and reason out of joint. 
Do politicians too ? Oh, my ! 
To ask if politicians lie ! 
Reader, what are we to do ; 
What line in life shall we persue 
If this philosophy be true ? 
The best we can — which means, no doubt> 
Be careful what we talk about. 



MY IDEAL. 163 



MY IDEAL. 



Sweet Lady, I confess tbou art 

The charming idol of uiy heart, 

The beau-ideal of my mind, 

The highest type that it could find 

Of beauty, wit, and soul combined. 

God gave thee, with a lavish hand, 

A mind that could all clay command, 

An eye that beams with such a ray 

As thine, I will not meet for aye, 

A mouth that speaks for one so young, 

What w^ould become an older tongue ; 

That nice, discriminating grace. 

That even now abstractions trace. 

Assigning them their proper place, 

That truthful, analytic skill, 

That tells a mountain from a hill, 

And wit, — withal the best of it, 

Tis not a man's, — but woman's wit ; 

No meteor's flash, whose light consigns 

To darkness those for whom it shines ; 

No sudden and. sarcastic cut ; 

No daubing decency with smut ; 

No agile antics on the line, 

^Twixt what is gross and what is fine ; 

No sentence with a double sense. 

That leaves an audience on the fence ; 

No member of that petty clan. 

Who must be wntty when they can, — 

Not when they should, — and therefore strike 

At foes and bosom friends alike, 

Who, fearing that a chance be lost. 

Will use their tongue at any cost : 



K 4 MY IDEAL. 

Thy ^Yit is classitied and found 

With those who jjlease, not those who wound, 

The brilliant lightning of thy mind 

Will strike, nor wish to slay mankind ; 

And hy the lamp's unsteady light 

I tliink of thee, bright one, to-night, 

Can see the eye, where genius burns, 

And love and sympathy b^^ turns, 

Can see the proud imperial air 

That only queenly natures wear; 

The whole bright, intellectual face 

Is beaming on me as I trace 

Thy picture on the written scroll, — 

Queen of my heart, and mind, and soul ! 

Can hear thy wit's incessant flash 

In ridicule of cant and trash. 

Can see the pretty lips that move 

My mind to act — my heart to love ; 

Unlike all others I have known. 

Unique, original, alone ; 

A noble woman who can sway 

The soul of man in beauty's way, 

Who charms him in his saddest hours 

By converse and her winning powers, 

Whose graces and whose smile of light 

Might charm a gloomv anchorite 

And cause him to regret the spell, 

That binds him to his lonely cell, 

A feeling, sentimental mind, 

A heart benevolent and kind. 

An ideal one, and all possest 

With charms and gifts to make us blest, 

Who, ^mid the cares of busy life. 

Can beauty see apart from strife. 

Where darkness blinds the vulgar way. 

She sees the beams of golden day 



THE JiEFUGE. 165 



With nieutal eye, but forin'd to pierce 

The beauties of the Universe, 

A mind of far too fine a mouhl 

A counniou ideal to behokl, 

And jet imbued with ev'ry power 

That could beguile misfortune's hour, 

A sympathetic, feeling heart, 

A mind discerning truth from art. 

Queen of the realm my Fancy made 

Ere I liad known her, who has swayed 

My heart like some one from above, 

Irapelling, not imploring, love ; 

For these and many reasons more, 

Thou art the , (pardon,) I adore. 

The matchless grace of one so young, 
With such a mind so finely strung. 



THE REFUGE. 



Into regions ideal 

I fly from the real 
With delight, just so oft as I can ; 

From the '' bricks and the straw," 

From the curse of the law 
Blind matter has impos'd upon man. 

From the horrible spell, 
From the shadows of Hell, 

I soar to my own native Heaven, 
And I bask in the light 
And the freedom from night 

That God to my spirit hath given ; 



166 TO A LITTLE LADY. 

And my soul it forgets 
All its pangs and regrets, 

The perfect is a stranger to pain ; 
And the music I hear 
Is so faultless and clear 

That an Angel must utter the strain ! 

And the place is replete 
With all that is sweet, 

In all shapes that existence can give. 
Oh, Heaven ; that I might 
Ever dwell in thy light, 

Aye ever in the ideal to live! 

I am sure that no clog 
' Would my senses befog 

Or drag me again to the real ; 

But assured of the truth 

Of perennial youth. 
Age never can dim the ideal. 



TO A LITTLE LADY. 



Of size diminutive, and yet 
Tis thus, for Nature could not get. 
In all her countless stores complete, 
Material more for one so sweet ; 
In truth, she had no dust to spare 
In making one so sweet and rare. 
Her eyes, to show the finest thought, 
Are matter to perfection wrought. 
And yet expressing none the less 
A world of sprightly roguishness. 
Whose glimpses in a moment show 



TO A LITTLE LADY. 167 

All artists dream or poets know, 

The spirit-windows in whose glance 

Are worlds of beauty and romance, 

A brow on which artistic eyes 

Could dwell forever, nor comprise 

Their beauty true, as well to try 

To paint the lightning of the sky. 

The lilly or the blushing rose 

Or beauty, which arc-en-ciel throws 

Athwart the eastern sky at even, 

When clouds obscure that part of Heaven, 

A hand, whose very prettiness. 

Makes every touch seem a caress, 

While mouth and chin, and lips and nose. 

Accord, and en rapport with those. 

No bird that deftly wings the air, 
With carol sweet or plumage fair, 
But 'minds me of the joy that springs 
From her, as if my soul took wings 
At her command, to soar above 
All other thoughts except to love. 
Her charms are such as win their way 
Despite what reason has to say, 
Hers is the magic power that wrings 
A sweetness from the dullest things. 
That gives to life, by more than half. 
The sweetest nectar that we quaff. 
The weather, latest styles of dress, 
Or aught her lovely lips express, 
To me, by far, are sweeter things 
To listen to than talk of Kings, 
A voice whose bewitching tone 
An angel might be proud to own 
And doubtless is, all other things 
Of theirs is hers, except their wings, 



168 A REMINISCENCE. 

A being bright as Fancy's beam, 
The real of a lovely dream, 
A soul that sanctifies its clay, 
A picture that must dwell for aye 
In every eye allow'd to trace 
But once the features of her face, 
A mind so exquisitely made, 
Portraying every light and shade 
Of thought, and feeling, oue may trace 
Their lights and shadows in her face ; 
No more, save all perfection given. 
Is hers, allowed one under Heaven. 



A REMINISCENCE 



Last eve, as on my couch I lay. 

My spirit wauder'd far away 

Into the past, and did recall 

My youth, my early'life and all, 

Until I felt the bursting joy 

That thrill'd my bosom when a boy, 

When brook and field, and fruit and sky 

Lent Heaven to my youthful eye. 

Ah, days of youthful innocence. 

Ere pleasure pall'd upon my sense, 

When sitting on a Mother's knee 

She sang some simple song for me, 

Told me the story of the Cross, 

Of Adam's fall and Eden's loss. 

Then of the brighter world above, 

Where all was happiness and love ; 

At other times niy Father told 

Of heroes in the days of old. 



A KEMINISCENCE. 169 

The while my wonder-waiting eyes 

Evincing joy and surprise. 

Thus was my young mind early taught 

To dwell upon the noblest thought 

That even mov'd me when a boy 

My time, ray talents to employ, 

If I should live to man's estate, 

Do something either good or great. 

When manhood came, I walk'd in pride 

With one that lov'd me at my side, 

Her face was fair ; I did not know 

How soon the dream would change to woe ; 

I did not deem the heart she gave 

So worthless, yet I was her slave, 

Obedient to each beck and nod, 

And lov'd her better than my God ! 

But proven false, I threw aside 

The bands in scorn and sullen pride, 

Resolved at once I would be free 

And live for those who live for me. 

Became ambitious, dar'd to soar 

To heights I had not dream'd before, 

Built heavens of my own, wherein 

No traces of deceit or sin, 

Plung'd deep in speculative lore 

Concerning things not known before 

By me, until my brain would reel 

With thoughts I could not name but feel. 

I left my boyhood's home and went 

To strangers, aye in banishment; 

An exile, leaving far behind 

All that had pleas'd or pain'd my mind. 

Long years had pass'd in rapid pace 

Ere I had seen a Sister's face, 

When back to scenes of youth I came 

Among my kindred and m^^ name. 

O 



170 SPECTLATION. 

SPECULATION, 



Tho' deeply metaphysics teach 

The freedom of the will, 
And fondly theologians preach 

Its powers and its skill; 

Yet who may know the secret springs 
That prompt each word or deed, 

What gives to thought its airy wings 
That distance lightning's speed ? 

Or why this mighty impulse given 
To deeds of sin and death, 

Unless it be propulsion-driven, 
Inherited from breath ? 

Then if such forces should impel, 

Nor leave the spirit free, 
Why hath each heart its secret hell 

For deeds that can but be? 

And conscience, too, is this a name 

Unknown, yet us'd by all ? 
Were education all the same, 

Who then could tell its thrall ? 

The savage breast is made to feel 

Its pangs in other ways 
Than ours ; perhaps mistaken zeal, 

Which prejudice conveys. 

In speculation we are lost 

Beyond the written Word; 
The seas of doubt cannot be crossVl 

When God will not be heard! 



THE DRUNKARD'S LAMENT. 171 

Bnt men all make their future beds, 

For better, or for worse ; 
Yet fain would pile on other heads 

The mountain of their curse. 



THE DRUNKARD'S LAMENT, 



" I mourn the hours wasted 
In revelry and wine, 
And o'er the bitter memories 
That now around me twine, 
Of hopes and ruin'd fortunes 
Fve squander'd long ago. 

Of friends who have forsaken 
Me in the days of wo! 
Alas, where are the faces 
That us'd to greet me then 1 
And where the boon companions 
Who led me on to sin ? 

Some lie in graves dishonored; 

A few are living yet, 

The bright star of whose being, 

Like mine, forever set ; 

The tumult of carousals, 

The lewd and leering stare, 

Are present with me ever. 
Like spectres of despair ! 
The blood of noble spirits 
Is now upon my head. 
For many youths of promisa 
I into ruin led! 



172 AMBITION. 

My good and prayiiii]: Mother 
Long sank beneath the blow ! 
These — bitter recollections : 
Would God they were not so ! 
My gentle Wife, that lov'd me, 
Alas ! where is she now ? 

Her ashes are reposing 
Where wee})ing willows bow ! 
My base and cruel treatment 
Soon drove her to despair ; 
Her tender heart was broken 
By grief it could not bear! 

My pretly, cherub children 

Are sleeping at her side, 

For there was none to nurse them 

When their sweet Mother died! . 

In age, alas! forsaken 

By God, as well as man ; 

No human soul can love me, — 
Inhuman if it can ! 
Oh, soul-destroying poison, 
I'm wholly now thy slave 
And have no other hope than — 
To fill a drunkard's grave! 



AMBITION. 

INSCRIBED TO MY YOUNG FRIEND, M. T. M' 



Strike out, oh ! free-boru soul, strike out ! 

Who are the imperial few, 
But mighty ones, who dar'd to doubt 

Existing systems when untrue! 



AMBITION. 17:^ 

Let birds of timid wing alone 

In circles small their flight confine, — 
"All man has done may still he done,'' 

Be hence thy watchword and thy sign. 

Behold the long array of names, 

Whose deeds, thro' ages, cannot die : 
Their thoughts still breathe like tongues of flame— 

This, this is immortality ! 

" Dare disbelieve till proof is shown, '^ 

Save where the Finite yields to God ; 
Examine all things, cling to none. 

Be more than merely breathing clod ; 

Let commonplace delight the dull, 

Seek thou the noble and the great — 
Earth never was, nor will be full 

Of heroes ; honors still await. 

Oh Fame ! next word to God alone — 

Let feeble intellects decry — 
For next to the Almighty One 

I worship thee, for thee I sigh. 

Who covets dark oblivion's bed 

Is dead in soul and cannot see. 
On high delights has never fed ; 

In common with the beasts is he. 

Thy mind is made of finer mould, 

With less affinity for clay. 
Than his who merely worships gold, 

Or things that perish in a day. 



174 AMBITION. 

Heed not the taunts of jeering fools, 
Let them contented live and die, 

The pliant necks and willing tools, 
Whose praise a penny still can buy. 

Seek Thou some sunny isle of Truth, 
Unknown as yet in Errors main, 

And consecrate thy mind, thy youth, 
To seek it thro^ a life of pain. 

Thou hast a mind that dares to stray 
From dusty highways ever trod 

By sweating millions ere your day, — 
And highways seldom lead to God. 

Let all things nerve your soul to try 

Heights inaccessible as yet ; 
With Hope thy Mother^s heart beats high, 

Be thou her Pride and not her Pet. 

Thought never yet enslav'd a mind — 
Think deeply if Thou wouldst be free ; 

Few were the slaves of human kind. 

Could Thought but teach them how to see. 

Aim high ; the aim directs the shot, — 
Ambition is the gift of God, — 

Explore the hidden realms of thought, — 
Thou art a spirit, not a clod ; 

Once right, put all thy fears to rout. 
Break thro' the dull array of rules. 
Waste not thy heaven-sent powers about 
Concerns which only trouble fools ; 



AMBITION. 17.-1 

Think boldly, act upon the spot, 

In God alone of Battles trust, 
Let souls in dull oblivion rot. 

Like Tvorms, ^'hich onl^' love the dust. 

Dear Montague, I hope to trace 

The paths of glory blest, with Thee; 
To run an intellectual race 

Whose goal is immortality. 

Tho' diverse paths our souls may take — 
Mine seeks the hidden heights of song— 

But let thine dare, and it shall shake 
The spheres of villainy and wrong. 

When the relentless plow of Time 

Has furrow'd both our cheek and brain, 

May then, as now, the "true Sublime'^ 
Be ours to seek, — 'tis ours to gain. 

Aye, make the world in which you live 

The better for thy dwelling here. 
Thy hand, thy tongue, thy talents give 

For what is noble without fear. 



Then shall the nations, in their love, 
To thee deserving tribute pay, 

Tho' dead, thy name shall live above 
The fameless millions of to-dav. 



176 WHEN HOPE IS EXTINGUISHED. 

WHEN HOPE IS EXTINGUISHED. 



When hope is extinguish'd aud joy is tied, 
And the flowers of love lie withered and dead, 

They do not remove, hut all lie entomhed, 

In the grave-yard of memory in which they once bloomed. 

They breathe no perfume as they did in the past, 

Of beauty bereft by adversity's blast ; 
No more shall we see their sweet petals again, — 

The trunk of their mem'ry alone shall remain. 

All the rainbows of hope, which painted the sky, 
Did vanish w^hen it saw love's flowers all die, 

The abode of sweet hope w^as chang'd into woe. 
When banished and died all the flowers and how. 



WHY I AM SAD. 

'Tis not some dark and secret sin, 
That cause the woes which lurk within, 

Nor conscience smiting in my breast. 
For sins too foul to be confessed. 

The mounful secret I will tell : 
I lov'd not wisely, but too well, 

I did not deem that woman's art, 
Was trifling with a trusting heart. 

Nor did I deem a face so fair. 
Should ever drive me to despair. 

Nor 'till that hour did I know 
Love was another name for woe. 



THE DRUNKARD'S SEPARATION. 177 

Too 80011, ala.sl my .vontlifiil lieart 

Was deeply pierced by sorrow's dart, 
Its brightest hopes too soou destroyed 

For time to (quickly till the void. 

When clouds my brow shall overcast, 

Look not on me, but on the past, 
AVhere Hope has liv'd, and sunk, and died, 

And left me naught but sullen ])ride. 



THE DRUNKARD'S SEPARATION 



'' In Ihe cold and dreary winter, 
When the birds had ceas'd to call, 
When Mother Earth was mantled 
As with a funeral pall ; 
III the cold and bleak December 
When the flowers all had faded 
And o'er the face of Nature 
A silence deep pervaded, 
It w^as then I stood before one 
Whose love had been my all, 
And heard in mournful accents 
These tones of sorrow fall : 
'The past, with all its pleasures, 
I bid thee now forget ; 
I sigh with bitter sorrow 
That we have ever met. 
Each token of endearment, 
Each look and loving mien 
Give way, and only coldness 
Appear where love hath been ; 
The chain of love that bound us, 
Alas ! is sever'd now^ ! 



178 THE DRUNKARD'S SEPARATION. 

But this had never happened 
Hadst thou only kept thy vow. 
Ah, had you lov'd so fondly 
Me, as the deadly bowl, 
The curse of sweeter hours 
Had never marr'd thy soul ! 
Say not I do not iove Thee ; 
The past too well can prove 
How fond was my devotion. 
How earnest was my love! 
But I will never follow 
The drunkard in his path ; 
Beneath are stinging serpents, 
Above, eternal wrath!' 

Tis hard, when hope is blighted, 

To check the rising sigh. 

Or stop the burning teardrop 

That sparkles in the eye ; 

Tis hard to feign a coldness, 

Indifference at best, 

When the heart's intensest passions 

Are striving in the breast ; 

'Tis hard to quench the fire 

In hearts, and not of earth ; 

'Tis hard to crush the flowers 

Of a celestial birth ! " 



SUBMISSION. 179 

SUBMISSION. 



My soul, in calm defiance now, 
At length hath settled down ; 

I care not tho' the world may smile, 
Nor do I dread its frown. 

It seems at times as tho' my heart 
Were wholly made of steel, 

At other times incarnate fiends 
Might pity what I feel. 

Thro' all the trial-harden'd soul, 
Tho' wrung with anguish now. 

Which sorrrow like a tempest shakes, 
Yet will not deign to how. 

Beat then, ye cruel storms of woe, 

On a devoted head 
Ye cannot quell the stubborn heart 

Which lives, tho' hope is dead. 

A hope of earth and not of Heaven,— 

Not that delusive snare, — 
For tho' all earthly hope hath fled. 

Mine are immortal there. 

But once my heart lov'd earthly toys, 
With all its strength and power. 

But wisely shuns the poison now 
That lurks in ev'ry flower. 

Tis best that ev'ry hope should die, 
For which I once have striven, 

Yet leave me that immortal one — 
The blessed hope of Heaven. 



180 ON LEAVING VIRGINIA. 

ON LEAVING VIRGINIA, 



Farewell, ye hills and mountains blue, 

Which long have charm'd ray youthful view! 

Farewell each dear remember'd spot, 

I leave you all, but ne'er forgot ! 

Soon, soon, must miles between us lie 

And other scenes salute mine eye ; 

But while I seek another shore, 

And leaving all I lov'd before, 

My heart will ever fondly turn 

To Old Virginia and yearn, 

For every friend I left behind 

Will dwell forever in my mind. 



THE FIRST KISS. 



Love's magical fingers touch'd the chords of my song, 
Tho' feeble, an echo which has slumber'd too long, 

Neither music nor nature, my spirit could move, 
Till its voice was wakeu'd by the first kiss of love. 

Tho' Judas his Master did betray with a kiss, — 
Still no one supposes that a pretty young Miss, 

W^hile a lover implants this test of affection, 
Would banish its joy with the sad recollection ? 

When two young hearts are beating in unison sweet, 

W^ho would deem for a moment their bliss was complete, 

Till by mutual concurrence its power they prove, 
And banish all their doubts in the first kiss of love? 



TWILIGHT. 181 

TWILIGHT. 



'Tis sweet, when daily toil is ended, 
To seek out some seqnesterd shade. 

Where light and darkness, gently blended, 
Are emblems of the life we lead. 

Beholding, at this tranquil hour. 
The heavens^ starry dome of night, 

All earthly objects lose their power 
To check the spirits upward flight. 

As onward thro' the viewless air. 
Ascending to the realms of bliss, 

It sees all forms of beauty there, 
For which it vainly sought in this. 

The planets and revolving spheres 
Are passed, and on the spirit flies 

Beyond the realms which reason fears : 
The nameless islands of the skies. 

The limits of permitted thought, 

The line which God has thrown between 

Himself and man : we reach, we halt, 
Where dei)ths divine all supervene. 

Returning, scarce we wish to gaze 

At all on snblunary things, 
But dull inertia soon repays 

The bliss we feel upon our wing«. 

Low appetites and lofty w ill 

Resume their wonted war again, 

The spark that oceans cannot kill 

Soon yields to gentle Morpheus' reign. 
P 



182 WHEN LOOKING ON THEE, LUCILE. 

WHEN LOOKING ON THEE, LUCILE. 



When looking on thee, Lucile, 
On beauty's form and essence, 

I drink nectarian sweetness, — 
The poetry of thy presence. 

Thy dark eyes titful flashes, 
Whose light cannot be given 

From any other sources, 

Than sucli as spring in Heaven. 

All that is sinless, stainless, 

That a human heart may know, 

I feel when I am with Thee, 
Beauty ever made me so. 

Lucile, thy name awaketh 

Sweetest raptures in my breast, 

Like that which music maketh 
When so tenderly expressed. 

A concord of sweet music, 

It falleth upon my ear. 
Like music o'er waters floating 

When the air is still and clear. 



THE METHODISTS, 



^Tis true you are a whining crew, 
And fond of some excitement, 
Nor wholly guiltless can you plead. 
In thought, or action, word, or deed, 
To scriptural indictment. 



TO A DECEIVER. 18:{ 

But there are others, call'd your brothers, 
Of a rather colder breed, 
Who seem to thiuk, altho' they wink, 
You have not the proper creed. 

Methinks I see a little crowd, 

Who leave the strife of tumult loud, 

And get beneath the shade. 

And strive out there to split a hair 

Of metaphysics here and there, 

While mercy calls for aid. 

The Devil gathers up the sheaves, 

And, alfcho^ laughing in his sleeves, 

Xeeps feigning melancholy ; 

Because anon a prayer is read, 

Think they the Devil can be dead — 

What blindness and what folly I 

If all the earth but knew the worth 

Of one immortal soul. 

We'd have less cant how Wesleyan's rant, 

And far more feeliuirs to control. 



TO A DECEIVER. 

Smile on, fair one, thou may'st deceive 
The heart of some unwary youth. 

And cause some stripling to believe 
Thy vows and pledges are but truth. 

Some heedless youth who may not know 
The wiles of a deceiver's heart, 

Xor see the fiend which lurks below 
The face that acts an angel's part. 



184 TEARS. 

TEAR S 



Of what avail are all our tears, 

And sighs that almost rend the heart, 

When not oue pleasing prospect cheers, 
But has its own dark counterpart ? 

Yet impulse has a thousand eyes, 
Where boasting reason has but one, 

And not a thing survives, or dies, 
That reason loves to dwell upon. 

Youth, innocence, and hoary age. 

Are phases in the life of all; 
The bard, philosopher, and sage. 

Alike in common ruin fall. 

And tears and sighs alike are found 
In each successive stage we live. 

Each moment has a dart to w^ound, — 
We must receive as well as give. 

But man is strongest when he weeps, 
Light as a stoic deems a tear, 

The proof convincing that he keeps 
Some better feelings — even here. 

Lives there a man surviving all 
Life's changes with a stolid ease, 

That man has fallen 'neath the fall : 
A being devils love to please. 

Our very weakness is our might ; 

When reason halts, faith leads the way, 
And reason leads the mind in night; 

Faith ushers in the golden day. 



ADIEU ROMANCE. 185 

But tears ; yes, sacred, holy tears, 

Our great Creator deign'd to shed, 
His nature infinite appears 

As much in this as all he said. 

What then, if tears a traitor prove 

We all must trust until betrayed, 
Worse is the man no tears can move 

Than beasts: them pity can invade. 

To me, above the hopes of fame 

Are they still dearer, as I trust 
My memory a tear wfll claim 

Wben I am silent in the dust. 



ADIEU ROMANCE. 



Adieu, Romance, adieu ! 

'Tis time that we should part, 
For there^s no balm in you 

To soothe a bliirhted heart. 



•»' 



Realities thy vassals. 

Have soar'd above thee high 
Since all thy gilded castles 

In ghastly ruin lie. 

Where are thy realms of pleasure f 
Where now thy seats of bliss, 

That were my chiefest treasure 
In such a world as this ? 



186 A VISION. 

A VISION. 



Alone in an attic, a poet sat musing 
And dreaming of joys then vanish'd or past, 

Sighing still for the pleasures that perish in using ; 
Flowers that wither from adversity's blast. 

His face wore an aspect of sorrow and sadness, 
As tho' disappointment had darken'd his youth 

And robb'd ev'ry feature of traces of gladness, 
By a stern, altho' necessitous truth. 

Yet his was a sorrow so still and so solemn 

That language essay'd not to breathe it ; 
Like a mourner's, who gazes at the death-telliug column, 

As he thinks of the lov'd one beneath it. 

But at once a vision of sadness came o'er him 

Subdued as the sound of whispering air ; 
The ghost of past pleasure that flitted before him. 

And flll'd his dark mind with a sense of dispair. 

^' Young Dreamer,'^ it mutter'd, ^' whence cometh the sadness 
That now o'ershadows and darkens thy heart ? 

Dismiss these creations — the genius of madness, 
Which trouble thy mind with a sorcerer's art ! 

Oh, seize the bright present and forsake the dark past. 

Nor grope in its ruins, hoping to find 
A flower unwither'd by adversity's blast, 

Its ashes create no more of its kind! '* 

This friendly monition once given, it vanished — 

Silently, softly, as when it first came ; 
Not a word had been spok'n, the past was all banished 

In mnaner withal no mortal can name. 



TO LIZZIE. 1-r 

TO LIZZIE. 



Sweet Lizzie, love, at such a distance riugn 
More like the memory of early dreams 

LoDg since forgotten, which an idea brings 
Back to the real of remember'd themes. 

Ah, Lizzie I did I love ? I answer yes ; 

Time only heals, it leaves a scar to tell 
Of wounds inflicted, none may e'er guess 

The fair inflicter where she now may dwell. 

The green grass covers perhaps her early grave, 
The cypress may sigh above her, the airy form 

Be turn'd to dust, her soul to Him who gave— 
Leaving me hopeless to battle with the storm. 

Mayhap she lives to gild another's life 

With rainbows of promise, of hope, and joy ; 

Mayhap she knew not the sweet name of wife : 
One i)oint is know n — I lov'd you when a boy. 



THE SILENT LAND. 



'Tis not the "Land of the Silent," 

Silent to some it be. 
For a Mother's hand, a Sister's voice 



Are beckoning to me. 



I listen, I hear ; oh, rapture ! 

The song of the sav'd and free ! 
'Tis the joy of the just made perfect 

By blood of Calvary. 



188 METEMPSYCHOSIS. 



And strains of the sweetest of music, 

O'er the river float to me, 
Like the voice of many waters, 

Like the surjre of the restless sea. 



A sense of the supernatural 
Dwells with me day and night, 

And shows me the shining angels 
In robes of purest white. 

And the whirr of Avings angelic 
I hear in my dreams at night, 

And a world of love and music 
Opes up to my ravish'd sight. 

'Tis then that the sense supernal 
That dwells with me by day 

Assumes all the shapes, the real, 
And soul forgets its clay. 



METEMPSYCHOSIS. 



TO LUCY. 



The spirits of men, some philosopher said, 

Find a home after death in the bosom of birds. 

But religion and reason have finally lead 

Us seriously to doubt the philosopher's words. 

Yet if it were so, then my soul would desire, 
In winging its flight from this tenement frail. 

To find its last home with the bird I admire, 
In the bosom of the sweet nightinoale. 

Then I could return on the wings of the night. 
From my home in the bow 'r or grove. 

And alight at her w^indow in the gentle twilight. 
And sing to the spirit I love. 



THE PEDAGOGUE'S SOLILOQUY. 189 

THE PEDAGOGUE'S SOLILOQUY. 



Tho' Thomsou said ^twas fond pursuit 

To '' teach youufij ideas liow to shoot, '^ 

Yet had he taught he had Dot wrote 

Such language as above, we quote. 

Talk of a doubtful suit at law, 

Of being tickl'd with a straw. 

Of hungry Avaiting for your dinner, 

Of courting one, but cannot win her, 

Of bawling at a balky team, 

Or paddling boats against a stream, 

Of being witty without wit, 

Of having clothes that do not fit, 

A Ilea within your trowser's leg. 

Of having doubts without a peg 

To hang them on, an appetite. 

With naught to eat from morn till night, 

A scolding wife, a chimney smoking, 

A dunce, a bore; Lord, how provoking! 

A letter written, on a tramp 

Thro' trunk and pockets for a stamp. 

Mosquitoes, bed-bugs, flies and fleas, 

Or aught unpleasant that you please. 

Yet all in one will not portray 

What teachers sutler ev'ry day. 

First comes the little A B C, 

With h-a and h-e he — 

And Bonaparte ne'er felt so big, 

As these young heroes spelling pig, 

Maguffey's series next appear 

W^ith pictures scatter'd there and here. 

The urchins read wth stifled sound, 

Like bees and insects buzzing round ; 

What see I next? Alas, ahisl 



19(1 THE PEDAGOGUE'S SOLILOQUY. 

Smith's Juuior Eii<rlish Grammar class: 

''John is a verb of plural number," 

Youug Socrates at once doth lumber, 

" Of gender male, and it agrees — 

May I go out, sir, if you please ? " 

Lord help with such a lot as these! 

And as it goes take in account, 

At all events, the vast amount 

Of stock each parent doth invest 

In Sook or Tom, the very best 

That ever sat within a school - 

To go to sleep, or learn a rule, 

Yet each one in their heart believing 

Their sons and daughters most deceiving 

At rapid learning. Mr. 13 

Peeps in each day or two to see 

How John and Agnes get along, 

And see that nothing's goiug wrong; 

Says " Mathematics is John's forte. 

We must restrain him, or in short, 

He'll go distracted ; little dunce I 

He added up two columns once. 

And since that time, why Mr. B 

Says there's no genus such as he." 

His Father asks in boyish glee 

If he has reach'd the Rule of Three? 

John answers quickly^ eyes elate : 

" I've cipher'd to the rule of eight ! " 

Precious youth from Heaven sent 

To make another President, 

Perpetual motion to invent. 

Delightful task; yes, fond pursuit. 

This teaching ideas how to shoot ! 

Twere well enough, were it not true, 

In doing so, they shoot at you. 



COULD SHE WHOM I LOVE. 191 

COULD SHE AVHOM I LOVE. 



Could she whom I love for a moment know, 

That her bliss was founded on another's ^Yoe, 

The smile she wears and her voice of glee, 

Would be ting'd with sadness as she thought of me, 

When far away on a distant coast 

To leave Thee, dearest, will grieve me most ; 

For Thou alone canst assuage my woe, 

As thy blue eyes beam with beauty's glow. 

As thy lips speak more than the utter'd word; 

Aye, the sweetest music that I ever heard. 

'Tis the soul that speaks, tho' the lips may move 

And a heart that tells of its priceless love. 

Tho' I met Thee the usual way — by chance, 

That hour gave birth to the sweet romance 

Of love in a moment, and yet sincere 

As if I had known thee for a year. 

I have pass'd the age when heart could sigh 

For the beauty onlj^ of a face and eye ; 

I have pass'd that age when another's face 

Could change my heart in a moment's space ; 

I have pass'd that age when a pretty eye, 

Or a rosy lip, or a seeming sigh. 

Could win me away from my destiny. 

Which is all fulfill'd in my loving Thee, 

The brightest being in this world to me. 



C O N T E N T ]\I E N T 



How sad and cheerless is the heart 
When hope and joy both depart ; 
When all its tlowers, once so fair, 



192 LINES TO 



Do fade and leave a desert there ; 

When friendship's glow, and beauty's smile, 

All lose their power to beguile ? 

The mad career of folly past, 

The soul becomes serene at last, 

No longer moved by passion's power, 

When woe has wasted every Hower : 

'Tis then the restless spirit soars 

Away from what it now deplores, 

And feels as tho' the chains were riven 

And breathes the native air of heaven. 

Altho' I feel depriv'd of all, 

The past I would not now recall, 

For all its hopes were mix'd with fears, 

And all its smiles preludes to tears. 

Tho' I may gaze with fond regret 

On all its buried treasures, yet 

This heart, worn out with woe and pain, 

Would not recall those scenes again ; 

But to its lot submissive bow. 

And rather seek contentment now. 



LINES TO 



Alas! it all mj" power deties 

To picture one so fair, 
The beauty of whose beaming eyes 

Shines like a gleaming star. 

A star! Can such a distant thing- 
Vie with those orbs of blue ; 

Those mirrors of the mind which bring 
The soul to sparkle through ? 



PARSON PLEASE-ALL. 193 

Her glowing cheeks also possess 

The bloom of beauty rare, 
With beauty shining none the less 

In her dark auburn hair. 

Impassive hearts might gaze on thee, 

And only reverence feel ; 
I almost feel it would not be 

Idolatry to kneel. 

Bui all have some attraction felt, 

However base and vile ; 
Methinks a Miser's soul would melt 

In sunlight of her smile. 



PARSON PLEASE-ALL, 



Parson P was a mystery 

Tho' not in the sense of witches, 
His legs, they were not large, yet he 

Got " too bio: for his breeches.'' 



He had been call'd, so we are told, 
To preach the gospel purely ; 

But bad sheep got into his fold, 
And he had to preach obscurely. 

Now, Brother M., in front of him, 
Was no religious brother. 

So in his texts he had to trim 

A path twixt "which and tother." 

Q 



194 PARSON PLEASE-ALL. 

It would not do to go right tbrongli 
For M. would be offended, 

And think, despite all he could do, 
He was the man intended. 

But Brother P. was piously 
Inclined to straight-out preaching, 

And " head nor tail," he once told me, 
Could make out of his teaching. 

Result : he now began to bump 
His head against the pillars. 

But found they were too hard a lump ; 
These poor but pious fellows. 

The pious man now hit a plan 

He thought would w^ork divinely ; 

He'de preach to suit the upper clan, 
But treat the lower fioely. 



Se he began with great eJan 

To give an exegesis, 
Such as Greek scholars only can 

When writing out a thesis. 



And so his ministration^ grew 

Exceeding efficacious 
In soothing nerves of such as knew 

Their money-bags were spacious. 

The parson could explain away 

The text about the needle. 
That here, nor hence, no rich men play 

Upon the ^'second fiddle." 



PARSON PLEASE-ALL. . 195 

His church became the maiu resort 

Of easy-going sinners ; 
Not lewd ones, of the baser sort; 

The whales, and not the minnows. 

In manner he was very bland 

To all the poor and needy, 
And always lent an empty hand, 

Averring he was seedy. 

And 'tis allow'd he should be proud 

At having such a choir, 
While such a fashionable crowd, 

All parsons do admire. 

He pitched his sermons on a plane 

Beyond all comprehension, 
But silly folk were ever vain 

And fond of lofty mention. 



Who but an ass, they said could sit, 

And contented to be fed, 
On manna and the like of it. 

The real true gospel bread ? 

And so the parson grew severe 

On ministerial dullness, 
By this his church throughout the year 

Was fill'd to over-fullness. 



Each system of philosophy 
W^as in its turn dissected. 

How Huxley, Darwin, both could be 
By Scripture well protected. 



190 PARSON PLEASE- ALL. 

And Aristotle and the like 
All came in for a share, sir, 

Why thnnders roar, and lightnings strike, 
How gas infects the air, sir. 

He nearly prov'd that Balaam's Ass 

Was ridden by a Monkej", 
And never had refus'd to pass 

Had he not been a Donkey. 



Discourse no longer ^' cut and dried," 
But spicy, sharp, and witty, 

lucludiug all things else heside 
The Saviour's love and pity. 

Kind reader, now a moral draw 

From this disjointed story. 
Of this weak man, who thought he saw 

A royal road to glory. 

The truth, and nothing but the truth, 
Can win with saint or sinner ; 

You'll find this at the end, forsooth, 
And be a real winner. 

What if a man should give oftence, 
To few, where there are many. 

He who will sit upon the fence 
Is not a friend to any. 

Be what you are, cost what it may, 

If bad, strive to be better. 
And never sell yourself for pay, 

Convictions to the letter. 



UNREST. 197 



Aud if you should be caird to preach 
Have but one aim in view, sir, 

And never strive to overreach. 
What God has bid you do, sir. 



UNREST. 



Alas, as here compell'd I sit, 
I rack invention and my wit, 
For some expedient which serves 
To quiet my excited nerves. 
It seems I have exhausted all 
The sources that men pleasure call. 
In early life I jDlay'd my part 
In serio-comedy of heart ; 
This folly o'er, I sought for bliss 
In thousand other ways than this. 
Became a student, poring o'er 
Huge voluoies full of garner'd lore, 
Kead novels, travels, by the score 
Till surfeited, and read no more ; 
Next took to travel, thinking this 
Would lead infallibly to bliss, 
Until at length e'en change of scene 
Became insipid, dull and mean. 
When oft repeated ; then became 
Ambitious next to make a name 
But soon, by observation, found 
How soon is greatness underground. 
Forgotten by the thoughtless crowd. 
Who pipe in life its praises loud. 
Amusements next ; heard Patti sing, 
And Nilsson make theatres ring 
With plaudits, join'd the wild encore 
Like all the rest, and call'd for more, 



198 UNREST. 



Until I thought, tho' thinking wrong, 
How true the phrase, ^' not worth a song." 

My uext illusion to repair 
To Halls of Congress, hoping there 
To find excelling in debate, 
Some hero from my native State, 
But found alas, instead of it. 
The low buffoon and vulgar wit, 
And saw, with some excepted classes, 
Our statesmen. Honorable Asses, 
Instead of service night and day, 
Thought only to increase their pay. 
These men, at home from year to year, 
On nothing live, yet have to spare, 
Must have five thousand dollars here. 
Or die of want — we dare to say. 
None ever known to die that way. 

What next : some fond and loving heart, 

Devoid of deceit and art. 

Not Fashion's fair and giddy queen, 

(The heroine of a tasteless scene,) 

But woman true, the richest gift 

God ever gave to man to lift 

His heart above the vulgar sway 

Of low delights from day to day. 

Whose cultur'd mind can both impart 

The treasures of her head and heart. 

Enthusiastic, not blase, 

A toast upon a rainy day. 

When bores and dunces cannot call 

To stay an hour, yet stay all 

With her, my Bible, books and friends. 

Life sanctified by noble ends, 

Thus spend our years, ten and three score, 

In peace and write ^'Unrest no more." 



TRUTH. I'Jil 

T E IJ T H . 



The soul of man, when forc'd to feel 
Its utter yileness, stands aghast ; 

Naught from itself it can conceal, 
The future only — not the past. 

Tis false that man believes a lie 
He made himself, as some aver ; 

The soul is not the ear nor eye, 
These do deceive, that cannot err. 

*'Yet language, as an art, conceals 
Tho' giv'n on purpose to express;'^ 

The poet, as lie writes, reveals 
Another's, not his own distress. 

This is too deep for willing speech, 
Whicli serves as porter to convey 

Some selfish thought designed to reach 
Its destin'd end and serve its day. 

'Tis genuine tears and sighs express 
Some traces of the unexpress'd, 

A sea of feeling measureless 
Pervades and fills each human breast. 

Like exhalations, which arise 
In silence, does the soul ascend, 

And clouds in thought its silent skies ; 
Unseen by either foe or friend. 



200 TO INCOGNITA. 

TO INCOGNITA. 



Fair Lady, if we may believe 
The Fairies at our birtb preside, 

Each with their cup prepar'd to give 
Some choice gift, 'tis not denied, 

But that they gave with lavish Land, 
The choicest that their cup contains. 

To Thee : a presence to command. 
And beauty which supremely reigns. 

Impassive natures never feel 
The bliss that beauty can bestow ; 

Such hearts are colder far than steel. 
For e'en steel can melt you know. 

How many balmy Sabbath eves 

Unknown I've pass'd before your door, 

And saw you sitting 'neath the eaves ; 
The type of beauty I adore I 

Yet while my envious heart rel)els 
At seeing bliss I cannot share, 

A blind fatality impels 

My steps to wander where you are. 

The secret passion I have nursed, 
Despite what sense or reason says. 

And what was but a spark at first, 
Hath kindled to a lurid blaze. 

Why should I hope ? Hope is a dream 
At best and only, nothing more ; 

A light upon an even stream. 

Which quickly dies when tempests roar 



LOVE. 201 



Tho' I am not ashaiuM to own 

Alight that I love, aud yet n)y name, 

Address and phice were better known 
To me alone, and that for shame. 

lama coward I confess, 

Yet beanty always made me so ; 

Love added makes ni}^ courage less, 
Therefore, I'm Yours, 



Incognito. 



LOVE 



Oh, Love, tho' oft hath mortal tongue 

Thy joys and thj^ sorrows sung, 

Yet there are thoughts that 'round thee teem 

Like shadows of a beauteous dream, 

Thoughts no human mind may reach, 

Defying ev'ry form of speech. 

Tis said, and credence must be given, 

Prometheus iilch'd its fire from Heaven. 

Love giveth life to deaden'd hearts, 

The sun of being that imparts 

To ev'ry faculty and sense 

A strength and power more intense, 

Enlivens wit, makes fancy pure. 

Imagination chaste, to soar 

To brighter worlds by far than this, 

Where it can consummate its bliss. 

As lesser planets of the night 

From greater all receive their light. 

So love, the centre ; aye, the Sun, 

Shines for all hearts, refusing none 

Who deign to bask within its beams. 



W2 ALTHO' MY HEART MAY STILL BE MOVED. 

Its liglit, which but from Heaven streams. 
Oh, Love, the source of all that can 
Expand, refine the soul of man, 
Breathe thou but once npon ni}^ verse, 
And that shall charm a Universe! 
Words have no soul till love imbues, — 
Without it, but the mind's refuse. 
Love! Heaven's highest gift to man, 
Eternal source whence God began, 
The hidden links that sweetly bind 
Created, with Eternal Mind, 
The laAv of life, the central Sun, 
The Light all worlds depend upon! 
But touch my lips with hallow'd fire. 
My song, like some celestial lyre, 
Resounds through all succeeding ages. 
Outliving lore of loveless sages 
Till it shall mingle with the strain 
Of bliss, when Hell and Death are slain. 



ALTHO' MY HEART MAY STILL BE MOVED, 



Altho' my heart may still be moved 
At sight of wo and pain. 

Yet never more, in all its depths, 
Can it be stirr'd aaaiu. 



There is a calmness in despair, 
A peace when hopes are wrecked, 

The calm that fills a human soul 
Which ceases to expect. 



SKEPTICISM. 20:{ 

SKEPTICISIM. 



Tho' atheistic spirits sneer 

And call the earth disjointed spliere, 

And seek to prove that ev'ry Avorld 

Was all from chance or chaos hurled, 

In Nature's volume strive to find 

Some proof that matter causes mind ; 

That this ethereal essence springs 

From '' course fortuitous of things." 

Such argument, to say the least, 

But ends in proving man a beast. 

The converse, then, of course ensues, 

That beasts are men, you cannot use- 

This argument with much effect. 

So long, at least, as you suspect 

Yourself a man ; 'tis all, you see, 

A riddle of absurdity. 

Mine be the easier task to find 

In all, the All-Creating Mind, 

In sun, and moou and planets see 

Design, their name for Deity ; 

For ev'ry atom, plant or ilower. 

Are tokens of creative power. 

The smallest insect that can craAvl 

Attests the hand that made us all. 

And, sneering atheist, can you tell 

Who taught the bee to make its cell ; 

Or who the beaver prescience gives 

The hut to build in which he lives ? 

Could chance do this, then chance must be 

Another name for Deity. 

Ye mighty planets that do pace 

Your noiseless rounds thro' realms of space ! 

Ye tell me each nocturnal hour 



204 FAREWELL, FOR WORDS THOU HAST SPOKEN. 

A lesson of creative power, 

Whose bare suggestiveness outweighs 

All arguments that atheists raise ; 

But when mine eyes within hut turn, 

Where thought and hope and joy yearu, 

Great God, alone in this I see 

And feel an essence sprung from Thee ! 



FAREWELL, FOR THE WORDS THOU HAST SPOKEN. 



Farewell, for the words Thou hast spokeu, 
Each tie of endearment did sever, 

And the spell that has bound me is brokeu. 
And its power hath vanish'd forever. 

Thou hast treated the heart that I gave Thee 
As a thiug that is worthless and vain, 

Aye, the lieart that would perish to save Thee 
Thou hast given to the cold world again. 

Yet parting, I do not abhor Thee, 

Unfeeling and false as Thou art, 
For the heart that was late beating for Thee 

Could not act so inconstant a part. 

Again the wide world is before me, 

With its beauties that dazzle the mind. 

And I who so late could adore Thee, 
My joy in another shall find. 

I will now seek a heart that is beating 

In unison sweetly with mine, 
Whose love is not changing nor fleeting, 

Nor false, nor so cruel as thine. 



IN ME MORI AM. 205 

IN MEMORIAM. 



The Husband of this lady was slain in her own yard, 
during the war, in the presence of herself and an only 
child by a detachment of Sheridan's Cavalry. 



Tis said, and time approves it so, 
That human bliss foreshadows woe — 
That when we feel relief from sorrow, 
We may expect a dark to-morrow, 
Ah ! human life is wholly made 
Of light and darkness, shine and shade ; 
Where hope, like some resplendent star, 
A moment shines with beauteous glare, 
Aud then to us refuse its light, 
At once obscured by ray less night. 
It is this brotherhood of woe 
That binds all human hearts below ; 
That knits them as it were in one, 
The only kindness woe hath done. 
But there are pangs untamed by age, 
Which earthly friends cannot assuage. 
Sweet woman, deem not Heaven unkind, 
Altho' its ways to thee are blind : 
Ear canuot hear, nor eye can see 
What God may have prepared for thee. 
Then, lest thy feeling h^art should break 
With pain, 'tis best thou shouldst forsake, 
And look beyond thy sighs and tears. 
At all thy happy, smiling years 
You spent with one, ere doom'd to part, 
The keeper of your hand and heart. 
Before his manly form was laid 
To slumber with the nameless dead. 
R 



206 IX MEMORIAM. 

Oh ! look beyond the dark abyss, 
That now divides thy former bliss I 
We know the human heart is prone 
To mourn a loss it deems its own, 
And if there be one earthly spot, 
Where human nature is forgot — 
Where feeling, pure as those above, 
It is the grave of buried love. 
But, ah! how swift, by memory's power, 
Is brought to view thy darkest hour. 
When he that made thy life so sweet 
Was slain, was murdered at thy feet! 
Methinks I see the ghastly wound. 
That pour'd his life's blood on the ground, 
And hear his only fair-hair'd child 
Pour forth her heart in accents wild — 
Can see the demon troop who stood 
And coolly shed her Father's blood. 
And yet regret, when they are gone, 
They had not slain and shed her own. 
The heart, when long inured to woe, 
May even cold and callous grow — 
May smile at hope and be elate. 
Nor fear no more the shafts of fate. 
But there are wounds we all must feel, 
Which cicatrize but never heal, 
When fate, by one fell, cruel blow, 
Hath slain our sweetest hope below. 
Such were thy feelings on that day, 
When he you lov'd was snatched away — 
Torn in an instant from thy side. 
Oh, death! couldst thou have not denied 
So dread, so dark an hour as this. 
To put an end to earthly bliss? 
He is at rest— ah, weep no more, 
The strife, the turmoil now is o'er! 



THE HYPOCRITE. 207 

Kemember, could he hover near, 
To see thee and his darling here, 
To see them wretched would but pain 
His heart, were it to feel again. 
Above his dark and narrow bed, 
Sweet flowers now their fragrance shed; 
The dews of night, which seem to steep 
The eye of Heaven, for him weep, 
While every leaf that's swept by air, 
Will breathe him a sweet requiem there. 
Remember, too, that God hath given 
To us our richest gifts from Heaven, 
And if he takes them back again, 
'Tis wrong that we should still complain ; 
And thou, his sweet and only child. 
Remember while in death he smiled. 
And would have press'd thee to his heart, 
Wherein thouhadst so large a part, 
Think of the last sweet words he said 
To thee, ere death had o'erspread 
The trembling lips so often press'd 
By thine, when in his arms caressed. 
Adore that God who hears on high, 
The widow's and the orphan's cry ; 
Though of thine earthly father 'reft, 
That God, your Father, still is left. 



THE HYPOCRITE. 



We know him by his drawling speech, 

And by his aptitude to teach 

The sterner lessons of the law. 

As if all life were "bricks and straw," 

Puts on an elongated face. 



208 THE HYPOCRITE. 

When ever seen in public place, 

His leaden lips always coniprest, 

As if in sorrow, or distrest, 

In holy horror blinks his eyes, 

And counterfeits a mock surprise. 

When other's sins, less than his own, 

Become, in course of events, known ; 

With a peculiar unction prays, 

And takes good care that all he says. 

When crowds are i)resent, shall be heard, 

That none may lose a single word, 

Drops in the money — part of all, 

He '' robb'd from Peter to pay Paul." 

If you but dift'er from his views, 

The wretch no temper has to lose, 

A heart of ice, a face of dough. 

The sneak no friendship can bestow, 

With none perhaps, except his wife. 

Was ever angry in his life, 

Brings up his children to believe, 

The end of life is to deceive, 

Nor known in all his life, by half, 

The joys of an honest laugh, 

No heart that can with pity melt. 

And never indignation felt. 

Ne'er feels aggrieved in all his time, 

Except when caught and known in crime, 

Then raises such a piteous yell. 

One would believe the wretch in Hell, 

Convicted, sneaks away to shun 

The life he brought disgrace upon. 

Poor fool ! you make the Devil laugh, 
W^ho knows too well, that even half, 
The trouble, for deception given. 
If rightly us'd, secures you Heaven ; 



YOUTH. 2C9 



You make yourself as miserable 

As you can this side of Hell; 

Your very faith and doctrine teaches 

A -wretched life and sour speeches, 

Suspicion steals your peace of mind, 

An acted falsehood makes you blind. 

Men know you well altho' you rant, 

In solemn, sanctimonious cant ; 

Your prayers, tho' long, cannot prevail. 

They are best a lying tale. 

Of woes unfelt : How can you dare^ 

To lie to God, engag'd in prayer? 

An open sinner^s chance outweighs 

Y'our own, when comes the Day of Days. 

A coward, liar, sneak, and thief, 

A servile spy, and not a chief, 

You hold the vilest office yet 

In all of Satan's cabinet. 

Yourself, you to the Devil sell, 

To do the lowest work of Hell. 



YOUTH 



Alas! sweet days of early youth. 

Bright days of innocence and youth ! 

Before my skies were overcast 

With j)assion's storm or sorrow's blast, 

Before I knew the ways of men. 

More so, my own inherent sin, 

Ere gall, and worm-wood, and deceit, 

I tasted in life's cup so sweet, 

Ere a reproaching conscience stung. 

When only Pleasure's syren sung 

A strain to lure me to delight 



•210 YOUTH. 

That leffc no bitterness or blight, 

Before remorse, with bitter pangs, 

Was fastened in my heart, like fangs 

Of serpent, only to destroy, 

My life, my bliss, my hope, my joy. 

Ere love bad thrill'd, with sense of pain, 

Ere thought had come to tax my brain. 

When hope could die and live again. 

Within an hour, and the last 

Bright as the one an hour past. 

At times I see the babbling brook. 

Upon whose banks I often took. 

Such deep delight with line and hook! . 

At other times, the dear old pond, 

Of which my comrades were so fond! 

Unclad, upon its banks we gave, 

Our bodies to the limpid wave. 

Swam here and there with boyish glee 

And '^duck'd^^ each other with the spray, 

Imaginary battles made. 

And calling comrades to our aid. 

We therw from our appointed place. 

The fluid in each other's face. 

At times I'm in the dear old school. 

The rigid teacher with his rule. 

And casting glances deem'd incog, 

At pupils, whom he wish'd to flog. 

I see again the sainted face 

Of Mother, and the smiles that chase 

Each other as her tender heart 

In all our gambols took a part 

From love and sympathy alone, 

Which made again these sports her own 

Which she knew well she had outgrown. 



DEATH. 211 



I see ray Father, too, when he 
Caress'd me on his welcome knee, 
Told me how Giant-Killer Jack, 
Huge burdens carried on his back, 
How he, by cunning, strength, and skill, 
Did match and other monsters kill. 
Or told me of the wondrous sights 
One reads of in Arabian Nights, 
Meanwhile my wonder-waiting mind 
BeggM more descriptions of this kind 
Till bed-time came, when Mother led 
Me gently to my little bed, 
And taught me, ere I w^ent to sleep. 
My little prayer, that God would keep 
My soul until I should awake, 
Or dead, that He the same would take. 
But Mother, Father — both are gone. 
And I am left, alas! alone. 



DEATH. 



INSCRIBED TO A MELANCHOLY FRIEND. 



Sans doute, an entertaining thought. 
Is surely his disease, has brought 
The final reckoning to pay, 
Put off of course till the last day, 
If rich, how seedy relatives 
Have but one fear, and that he lives. 
Provided that his will bestow 
On those who now lament him so. 
That debt by all mankind pursued — 



212 DEATH. 

We mean the ''debt of gratitude," 
And which, we notice by the way, 
Few men were ever known to pay ; 
If blest or curst with poverty, 
Glad to get rid of such as he. 
Conceal their joy none the less 
By sniveling in mock distress, 
And make your funeral's cost a plea 
For paying debts some other day. 

Blest with a pretty wife perchance, 
Already' in whose roguish glance, 
Tho' dimmed with tears, the secret fear, 
She may not marry in a year, 
And turn your tender children over 
To the control of her new lover. 
Who often does, (this may be hearsay) 
Spank right and left and without mercy. 
So my sad Alpheus, do not trouble 
Yourself about your life — a bubble ; 
Live right, nor be concern'd about 
The manner of your getting out. 
Take this to heart, which I now give, 
''No death to those who truly live," 
Dismiss blue devils and such things, 
Disordered stomach always brings, 
Thy liver cleanse by exercise 
And bid farewell to gloom and sighs. 
Take all of Holy Writ to heart, 
Nor dwell on some disjointed part 
Out of connection, which would shake 
The faith of martyrs at the stake ; 
Do this, and I will pledge my word 
Your groans will be no longer heard. 



AIK CASTLES. 2i;i 

AIR CASTLES. 



A dream of beauty I What else is liumaii life; 

For picture yours to the remotest span, 
Strip it of phantasies, ^\hat else but strife 

Marks ev'ry period from infancy to man ? 
The swaddled infant pipes its feeble cries, 
Prophetic of a life of tears and sighs. 

Men philosophize, but philosophy 

Doth make us yet more miserable still : 

It takes the scales but from our blinded eye 
To see the wide vista of human ill. 

Heaven-born genius dolh not bestow 

Exemption on any : our lot is wo. 

Childhood hath its pains; let poetasters 

Sing a delight no genuine bard hath known ; 

Life from the first is freighted with disasters, 
The child hath sorrow the man's asham'd to own, 

Trifles perhaps, and yet a broken toy. 

As keen a sorrow as Priam felt for Troy. 

The first attempts to walk, the thuds and knocks 
On hairless heads, the brainless, cruel nurse, 

Who puts us down to walk upon the rocks. 
And if we cry, why then, so much the worse, 

Put in a crib and tortur'd half to death 

P>y tickling flies, or an infected breath. 

Denied the sweet facilities of speech. 

We cannot damn them as we wish to do ; 

Bnt, turtle-like, lie on our backs and screech 
Till we are hoarse and almost frantic too, 

Until our Ma, almost of love bereft. 

By such mad yelling, spanks us right and left. 



214 AIR CASTLES. 

The cold neglect at each successive birth 
That follows ours, till forgotten quite, 

Or strict constraint is put on all our mirth, 
For weary years in learning how to write ; 

Then taken home, perhaps to learn a trade. 

And sweat on roads that Eve and Adam made. 



We fall in love : what matter if we do? 

We cannot marry till a certain age ; 
And what young Miss has ever been so true 

As wait so long for us to tread the stage 
Of young heaudoynf If any, few there be. 
And these, alas! we read about; not see. 

Suppose she does, what difference does it make ; 

We run a risk, a fearful one at that. 
Our angel sweet another shape may take. 

Prove a cross between a tiger and a cat ; 
Or, put it milder, he may be forsooth 
A Boaz, she — why anything but Ruth. 



If otherwise, can we avoid our share 
Of ills and aches, the wretchedness we feel. 

From want of love, when eating ill-cook'd fare, 
With buttonless pants, and socks without a heel, 

Or shivering at night when cold Boreas blows, 

Without a wife (a rug) to warm our toes? 



Air-castles was our theme. Where are they now ? 

Departed from us never to return ! 
To that false goddess we no longer bow, 

And for illusions we no longer yearn. 
Perhaps, who knows, in worlds to which we go 
They may return ; be real all ! We hope so. 



LINES TO E. 215 

LINES TO E. 



When blighted in hope and baffled in zeal, 

With all the keen anguish ray 8i)irit can feel, 

Condemn not, sweet Lady, if I seem too severe 

Or rail at some things I was taught to revere, 

Condemn not, hut pity, the spirit that feels 

A sorrow whose keenness no language reveals, 

And deem not its follies as a reveller's are, 

But the phrenzy which seizes a mind in despair ; 

Could you know of the tempest that tosses my heart, 

That wrenches its tendrils and fibres apart. 

Not folly,, but madness, not appearance, bat pain, 

Evokes such a tumult, supreme in its reign. 

Still your sympathy proves it, and makes me believe^ 

That Friendship is real, though Love may deceive. 

Kind Heaven hath bless'd Thee with a spirit to know 

All the anguish refined of poetical woe ; 

Tho' the gift of expression may never belong, 

Yet Thou art a Sister in the heaven of song. 

Alone in Thy presence, can I wholly forget 

All stars which before have arisen and set. 

For who in the light of thy loving, dark eye, 

Would mar the sweet present with a past agony ! 



MUSIC 



Sweet solace of an idle hour, 
What mortal has not felt thy power ? 
And when thy gentle numbers swell, 
With sweetness lauguage cannot tell, 
Who is not tempted to advance. 
And join the pleasures of the dauce? 



216 UNWRITTEN SORROW. 

O'er all the wide and warring earth, 

Thou art a source of joy and mirth. 

Thou drivest gloomy thoughts away, 

Especially on a rainy day. 

When murky clouds and patt'ring rain 

On housetops keep a dismal strain; 

When it is left for us to choose 

Which we will have — thee or the blues. 

Sweet solace of a soul in love, 

Thy origin was from above. 

The man of wealth and lab'ring swain 

Are soothed by thy bewitching strain. 

E'er since that holy man of old 

Struck high thy notes on harp of gold, 

The little bird and busy bee 

Are found all imitating thee. 

And in the blissful seats above. 

Thy notes record that God is love ; 

While erring man thy notes beguile. 

And makes thee serve a purpose vile. 



UNWRITTEN SORROW 



Oh! there is a sadness not vented by tears, 
When a moment embraces all the anguish of years ; 
We then feel a sadness too deep to be told, 
A tumult of feelin<rs no mind hath controlled. 



■& 



It does not come as a wave o'er the rock, 

But like the swift light'ning in its with'ring shock. 

Which scorches all things in its fiery path. 

Like a spirit of evil or the genius of wrath. 



MY MOTHER. 217 

Did it come o'er the soul as a wave o'er the sea, 
The heart might forget and again could be free ; 
Did it die on the soul as a sound of the lute, 
Then its anguish for years we might not compute. 

Like a bolt, it will blast what it cannot destroy. 
Making barren the soul of its flowers of joy ; 
While the lustreless eye and the deep furrow'd cheek. 
Tell a story more fearful than language can speak. 



MY MOTHER. 



There is a flower that cannot perish 
In memory's urn, while I shall cherish 
The thought of each remember'd joy, 
Thy love to me, thy wayward boy, 

My Mother. 

My truest friend thou long hast been, 
Who warned me from tbe paths of sin, 
And when at manhood's prime arrived. 
Still of thy counsel not deprived, 

My Mother. 

Till she has passed away from earth, 
There's none can estimate her worth ; 
With none to hearken to their call. 
And feel they are bereft of all. 

Their Mother. 

With none to soothe his boyish fears, 

What voice to him as sweet as hers? 

When death the dearest tie has riven, 

I hope to meet again in Heaven, - 

My Mother. 

S 



218 ACROSTIC. 

ACROSTIC. 



F air as a lily and sweet as a rose 

A nd lovelier, by far, than either of those ; 

N ot given to vanity, pure as a child, 

N imble and joyous, withont being wild ; 

I n the clear sunny depths of thy soul-telling eyes, 

E nchanting sweet dream of happiness lies ; 

E nrapturing the vision permitted to view them, 

B y the angel-like glances that scintillate through them; 

O h, language! how feeble for utterance given, 

W hen the soul is surcharged with the beauty'of Heaven'; 

E nfeebled and weakened with its feelings of bliss, 

N or given the power to portray you, ^' Sweet Miss." 



TO A FRIEND. 



Dear friend, these lines are intended 

Alone as a token to thee ; 
I wish you to take them and keep them 

Always in remembrance of me. 
O, keep them as a pledge of that love 

That still in my bosom shall burn, 
While life shall enliven its flame — 

Till my body to the dust shall return. 
And when the frail body lies sleeping 

In the peaceful repose of the grave, 
You will think of him who once lov'd you. 

And of this as the token he gave. 



TO MATILDA, THE POETESS. 219 

TO MATILDA, THE POETESS. 



Thou bid*st me seek among the flowers, 

In shady wood and tangled bowers, 

Where w^ood-nymphs hold communion sweet, 

Within their dark and lone retreat, 

To find a gift which God has given — 

Poetic fire sent from Heaven. 

When prompted by poetic fire, 

Thou mayest, I grant, to woods retire ; 

For babbling brook and balmy air 

May kindle inspiration there. 

But, ah ! no power can control 

Or check the language of the soul. 

It breathes in the secluded glen, 

Or 'mid confusion's angry din, 

W^here birds their dulcet numbers pour, 

Domestic ease, or ocean's roar. 

The soul, impregnant with its fire. 

Needs not externals to inspire. 



SABBATH EVENING. 



Blest Sabbath eve, thine hours are given, 
To muse on holiness and Heaven ; 
To leave the giddy world behind. 
With all that may disturb the mind ; 
And leave the grosser joys of sense, 
And soar to that pure region whence 
Descends the balm w^hich soothes the soul, 
And makes the wounded spirit whole. 
My heart once sought for every bliss 
Afforded in a world like this, 



220 THOUGH FATE HATH DOOMED ME. 

'Mid crowds where mirth and beauty met, 

To banish care — subdue regret. 

Twas vain ; nor mirth nor beauty's power 

Could cheer me in my gayest hour. 

Altho' at times my feelings flowed, 

And not one trace of grief I showed, 

Yet still, within, some secret power 

Would call to mind my dying hour. 

Thou knowest not when death is near, 

Nor when the monster will be here. 

Alas ! this world can never give 

That which we sigh for while we live. 

Teach me this wholesome truth to know, 

How frail are all things here below. 

And may its light be ever nenr, 

To check me in mj^ wild career ; 

Thouo;h fresh in youth and manhood's bloom 

My active limbs must soon consume — 

Must lose their force and pass away, 

And be resolved again to clay. 



THOUGH FATE HATH DOOMED ME, 



Tho' fate hath doom'd me to forego 
The bliss I fondly hoped to know ; 
Tho' sorrow deep from me hath wrung 
The bliss the syren fondly sung ; 
Yet, dying, I shall leave behind 
Some fruits of the immortal mind. 
And tho' I ne'er can hope to soar 
The heights of song, as some of yore, 
Yet song alone, in darkest hour, 
Can soothe the soul with magic power. 
This be my solace while I sing, 



NIGHT, (IN THE CITY.) 221 

And make me loath each sordid thing; 
For naught on earth but chaste desire 
Should ever prompt poetic fire. 
But disappointments, dark and deej). 
Awake the fires which sometimes sleep ; 
And, like volcanic Etna's breast. 
Flame out more fiercely for their rest. 
I would I were of placid mould, 
Of impulse neither hot nor cold. 
Then I could look on joy or pain, 
Nor feel the throes I've felt again. 
But till I drink of Lethe's stream, 
The past will torture with its dream. 



NIGHT, (IN THE CITY.) 



Alas, how like my life the night, 
That hides the city from my sight. 
Save where some artificial light 

Reveals the dim outline 
Of murky objects which appear 
Like horrid monsters such as leer 

Their forms above the brine. 

The churches' tall and slender spire^ 
In darkness lost, but serves to tire 
The eye that vainly would aspire 

Its utmost x^oint to scan. 
Too like, alas, the vain endeavor 
Of mind, to pierce the far Forever, — 
(Tho' baffled always, yielding never) 

The destiny of man. 



222 NIGHT, (IN THE CITY.) 

The prattle of the booted feet, 
On thoroughfare and stony street, 
Urged by some silly wish to meet, 

A sweetheart or a friend. 
Are like desires that do tread 
Incessantly thro' heart and head, 
By impulse, and at random led 

To no specific end. 

The streams of artificial light. 

That flood each window late at night. 

Are like the hopes that us incite, — 

These artificial too. 
Within are forms of "beauty rare, 
Made so by glamour and by glare, 
Appearing sweeter than thej^ are, 

To superficial view. 

The ball-room's gay and giddy crowd. 
With music, mirth, and laughter loud. 
Whose costumes are too oft a shroud, 

By means of heat and cold. 
Now float before me in the light 
That chandeliers will make at night. 
But pains to think that such delight 

Will early make them old. 

Give me the heaven's azure dome, 
Where stars and blazing comets roam. 
Seen from the porch of country home, 
Where all creations endless tome 

Is open'd to my view ; 
Where mind delights in vast disjday 
Of myriad worlds and *' Milky Way," 
Where night is sweeter than the day, 

And day is brighter too. 



LAST WORDS. 2-« 

LAST WORDS 



The circumstances attending her death were these : She 
had been employed as Governess in an English family, 
and having lost her situation, with only a few pence in 
her pocket, she wandered through the streets of London 
seeking employment and finding none. She w^as very 
beautiful, and was therefore subjected to the most brutal 
suggestions, which she repelled with scorn. At last, 
when all her money was exhausted and there was only 
one alternative — shame or death — she chose the latter. 
A letter was found upon her person, to her Mother, in 
America, containing the sentiments expressed in this 
poem. 

"I am far from those who love me, 
In a bleak and barren world ; 
With a frowning sky above me, 
And hopes in ruin hurled. 



I've not a friend to pity 
And none to sympathize, 

Tho' in the teeming city 

Where thousands meet my eyes. 

Fatherless and motherless. 
Not a pennj^, nor a friend, 

Death is my only fortress, 
Self-murder is my end. 

The dark and roll lug ocean 

Howls pitiless between 
Each scene of love's devotion, 

Ave! each familiar scene. 



224 LAST WORDS. 

I scan the strauger faces 

Which pass me in the street, 

And seek in vain for traces 
Of love I nev^er meet. 

I am treading, slowly treading, 
With low and bated breath 

The path inviting, leading 
Me to the bridge of death. 

And now I stand upon it 
And gaze into the water. 

Wondering if my Mother 
Sees the anguish of her Daughter. 



Death is my only portion, 
Or lead a life of shame, 

How can I, w^hile devotion 
Shall last for Mother's name ? 



Oh, God ! my refuge, hear me, 
Ere I make the fatal leap 

Into the river, near me. 
Into everlasting sleep ! 

Forgive me, oh! forgive me, 
My present and my past, 

A deed that must outlive me 
In the life aside I cast I 

I have striven, vainly striven, 
To circumvent my fate. 

Yet none have i30wer given 
To shun a certain state. 



MY BIRTH-DAY. i^'^r^ 

Time tan^lit me cv'rv lettrr 

In the alphabet of woe; 
I feel it would be better, 

No matter where I go. 

My dizzy head is reelii);^ 

With plenitude of pain, 
Tlie stream behind me stealing 

That I cannot cross again." 

These were the words she uttered, 

As she leaped into the river ; 
The waves a farewell muttered, 

And closed on her forever. 



MY BIRTH-DAY. 



J.IXKS WKiTrKX JULY '23tH, 1.-^7*2, DUHIXU A fSTATK OF GUEAT 

DESPONDENCY. 



Alone in the world, tho' in the dense city, 

Where thousands of gay liearts go fluttering by, 

Solac'd by the tattle of the lovely and witty, 
Whose hours of |>leasure unconsciously fly. 

Far, far from my home and the beautiful eyes. 
Which are beautiful only as love in them beams, 

My soul is consuming itself in its sighs. 

As it feels the departure of all its fond dreams. 

While others are raving over fanciful ills. 
Or curse an existence all sated with pleasure. 

They taste not a drop of the mixture that fills 

My cup of disaster Avithout stint, without measure. 



226 MY BIRT PI-DAY. 

WLat solace or charm in a gain-seeking city 
Is felt by the needy, the life-sick and weary, 

P'or money-less orphans, the objects of pity, 

With mortals whose watchword is ^'Let us be merry!" 

Five years, each crowded with a tale of its own, 
Have elaps'd since I saw e'en a Sister or Brother ; 

Depriv'd of my Father: my Father is gone. 
To glory, I trust, with my dear sainted Mother. 

In my chamber alone, in the stillness of night, 
My spirit flies forth to the ends of the earth, 

Or mem'ry conveys me, with mystical flight, 

To the scenes of my childhood, nay e'en mj birth. 

Till I hear, as it were, e'en the flrst feeble cries 
That I utter'd, as wrapp'd in the cradle I lay. 

See Father and Mother as they fondle the prize 
Of their mutual love. God pity that day! 

I grow with my growth and revisit each scene 
Of my boyhood tender to the estate of man. 

Am again in each spot where I ever have been 

Re-dreaming each dream and replanning each plan. 

^Tis the mis'ry of the moment that drives me to this. 
From a present that leads to the brink of despair, 

To joys once enjoy'd; 'tis a measure of bliss 
And relief from the burdens I presently bear. 

I feel I am writing no fanciful sketch 

Of pangs adventitious, but fearfully true ; 

Not pangs of remorse that may torture the wretch. 
Whose crimes, in confession, are piercing him through. 



FIRST LOVE. 227 

But the wildness of phrenzy that maddens the brain ; 

That scorches the soul which has trusted in God, 
That cries unto Him from the midst of its pain, 

And striving to love Him, as he uses the rod. 



FIRST LOVE. 



Can the young heart exert 
More than once all its powers ? 

Are there springs in a desert ? 
Can a waste produce flowers ? 

Can a streamlet still flow 
When its fountain is dry ? 

Can a flower still grow 
When its essence shall die? 



Can an army be scattered, 
Yet forsake not the plain ? 

Can hopes that are shattered 
Be cemented again ? 



Can a flame be relighted 
When its fuel is gone ? 

Or a love be requited 

When heart there is none ? 



Can purest love ever 

To friendship descend, 
When its sweet bauds shall sever 

And be at an end ? 



228 FOE'S SOLILOQUY. 

POE'S SOLILOQUY. 



SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE. 



^'Tis useless to struggle, 

To be poor is my fate, 
To suffer with hunger 

And the horrible strait 
That one must encounter 

Without money or friends, 
To be brought to the level 

Of beasts — human fiends 
Possessing no more 

Of man thau his skin, 
While the heart of a demon 

Is beating within ; 
To be fed from the offal 

That rich meu refuse, 
The advertised charity 

Which they cannot use 
To a better advantage 

Than the practice which brings 
A purchased benevolence 

With superfluous things. 
Such morceaux avail one 

But little below, . 
When tortured with hunger, 

Tormented with wo. 
As he bears the contumely 

Of insolent asses, 
As he seizes each straw 

Of subsistence that pasvses, 
For a fragile support 

From the bodily pain 
That consumeth the heart, 



POE'S SOLILOQUY. 229 

That maddeDS the braiu. 
'Tis madness and folly 

Contending with fate — 
Each day I am falling 

From hope to that state, 
When restless ambition 

Shall spur me no more 
To seek for preferment 

With the wolf at my door. 
Poor, gifted, yet friendless, 

Without aid I must sink 
In the gulf of my ruin 

E'n now on its brink. 
Existence is darkened 

With a horrible spell : 
What is it but shadow 

From a spiritual hell ? 
Each plan has miscarried 

That I ever conceived, 
Each friend has deserted 

That I ever believed ; 
All aspects are saddened 

That ever seemed gay. 
All hopes that have gladdened 

Have vanished away. 
Ah, stream of sweet Lethe, 

How soon unto thee 
Would I sink could I know 

My spirit were free. 
Sweet Mother, w^ho loved me, 

Seest thou from the sky ? 
Canst pity my anguish, 

Or heed to my cry ? 
When the roses of Summer 

Hang a penitent head, 
As if they were mourners 

T 



230 POE'S SOLILOQUY. 

At the graves of the dead, 
I long to be with them, 

A sharer of joy, 
Sorrow never may sadden, 

Sin cannot destroy. 
If the prayer of a mortal 

Be permitted above 
I feel thou art pleading 

For the child of thy love, 
That his feet may be taken 

From the mire and clay 
Of sin, and his soul 

See the light of that day 
That revealeth the secrets 

Of destiny, fate. 
And why he should suffer 

So much in that state, 
When others around him 

Were sated with pleasure, 
And pass'd an existence 

Of elegant leisure, 
With all the rare dainties 

That earth can afford 
That are pleasant to taste, 

Or sweeten the board. 
Why heaven-born genius, 

With powers immense, 
Succumbs in the struggle 

With dull common-sense; 
Why the light of that spirit, 

Which is kindled on high. 
Should ever dare question 

The God of the sky ? 
No more of complaining, 

I sweetly resign 
My existence to thee — . 

That problem is thine." 



THE BELLE'S REVIEW, 831 

THE BELLE'S REVIEW. 



" Well, well, as here confined at home 

By rain Til let my fancy roam 

Among my beaux, and criticse 

Them as they pass before my eyes, 

Altho' I readily confess 

I criticise them none the less 

When they are present, yet forsooth 

I think, but dare not tell the truth. 

But now I'll jot them down just here 

For my own use and without fear ; 

First, then, that sentimental chap 

Heart full of love — head full of sap, 

The sweep of whose gigantic powers 

Is limited to birds and flowers, 

Whose intellect scarce worries through 

A sorry pun or billet-doux. 

He comes to quote the sweet tid-bits 

Of love-sick nonsense, coined from wits, 

Who 'SN'rite such stuff to earn, when read, 

A pot of gin and loaf of bread. 

He comes at eight — begins at once 

(Lord, how I hate a love-sick dunce) 

To quote what Moore and Tupper wrote, 

(He has a thickness in his throat,) 

Says * Miss, I know you like the book — 

I mean of course Moore's ^ Lalla Rookh,' 

More so that part wherein he tells 

Of flowers, birds and dear gazelles. 

Who charm him with their sweet black eye* 

Who when they come to know him, prize, 

And love him, die ;' a bagatelle, 

I sit and listen, groan and swell 

With indignation that the dunce 



2:V2 THE BELLE'S REVIEW. 

Has naught origiual for once. 
Gets up at twelve, puts on his hat 
As though to go, tugs his cravat, 
Till step by step he's at the door, 
Says 'Miss, I know you love t'expU>re 
The starry depths, celestial tire,' — 
(The wretch, I vow I will expire 
Unless he stops,) next indicates 
How stars prefigure all our fates; 
And last, when prose and flowing verse 
And poems of the Universe 
Are hateful to my mind forever. 
He leaves, still thinking he is clever. 

What next ? Why here conies 'Dandy Jim/ 

Majestically tall and slim, 

With clothing so exact and fine, 

With diamonds from Brazilian mine, 

With linen faultless as the snow, 

His hair well oiled and all aglow, 

In middle parted like design 

Had been to draw for once straight line, 

His pretty vest and silk cravat. 

His coat of cloth and heaver hat. 

His costly kids and shining shoes, 

His small ratan, which he can use 

In parlor well as on the street ; 

See these, and Jim is seen complete, 

A maiden's beau-ideal ; but stop, 

All maidens do detest a fop. 

Unless their brains, like his indeed. 

Will rattle in a mustard seed; 

He comes at nine, begins to prate 

Of balls that he attended late. 

Says '' Miss La Belle was sweetly dressed 

Jn silk Parisienne, the rest 



THE BELLE'S REVIEW. '2:]^ 

In silks and satins trimmed with lace 
Valencennes, and danc'd with grace." 
Kegales one with such talk as this, 
Until at length, ^Excuvse me, Miss, 
Upon my word I find Vm due 
To dance a set with Miss Belle View. 
At ten o'clock.' He goes at once 
And I am left without — a dunce. 



What next ? Here comes my heavy beau 

With youth exhausted long ago, 

Whose wealth, he deems, will win the day 

And take my virgin heart away, 

And he so homely that a sketch 

I herewith give of this old wretch, 

Whom Pa and Ma would make believe 

The husband best I could receive. 

Imagine to yourself a man 

Some forty summers if you can, 

Give him a form whereof might brag 

An ordinary Brobdignag, 

Give him a head that is no doubt 

As bald inside as it is out, 

Give him a face that like a book 

No preface needs, since but a look 

Half given at his ugly phiz 

At once informs you what he is. 

Invest him with gray bearded chin. 

Supporting lips reverse of thin. 

Give him a nose not aquiline, 

Nor pug, nor Grecian, but, in fine. 

Belonging to the nameless tribe 

Of noses no one can describe. 

Give him next an eye that lacks 

The brilliancy of old beeswax ; 

Well, here he comes, '' How do you dof 



234 THE BELLE^S REVIEW, 

^' Do as I please ; " not so must you, 
Sits down at once upon a chair, 
Looks at me with a vacant air, 
And then begins to talk about 
All earthly things, and yet leaves out 
The one just then I think sublime. 
What else, except the flight of time, 
Bores me to death with loud guffaw 
At wit no mortal ever saw 
Except himself. I cannot speak 
But that his sides begin to shake 
With merriment, my sorriest pun 
With him as good as number one. 
He leaves at last ; Lord, what relief 
Is mine for once : but oh, too brief! 
Kow if this dunce should ever dare 
To court me, sure I shall not spare, 
But he shall find out to his cost 
A chapter in "Love's Labor Lost." 

What next ? Here comes my pretty beaux, 

So irresistable you know, 

With locks as glossy and as fair 

As poets tell of Venus' hair, 

His teeth as faultless, white as pearls, 

Complexion fair as any girls, 

A hand as pretty as my own. 

His eyes as bright as ever shone, 

Withal that lazy, languid air 

Of manners easy and don't — care, 

Yet with his beauty, must be said 

Without an idea in his head. 

In fact, he is a piece of art 

That charms the eye but not the heart. 

He leaves at ten, good honest lad, 

I thank him for the view I had 



THE BELLE'S REVIEW. 

Of matter to perfection wrought, 
Yet without one ennobling thought. 

What next ? My literary friend, 

Whose tongue and talk are without end, 

Who chats of books and men and things 

Ad libitum, yet never brings 

An idea down in all the chase 

Before another takes its place, 

He has all things at his tongue's end, 

Except the patience of a friend. 

This thought, it seems, with all he's read. 

Has never once come in his head. 

And yet so learned I much deplore 

To call him — as he is — a bore ; 

Yet had his stay been premature 

I had thought more of literature. 

What next! Why '^Fashionable Bill,'* 
Head full of schottische and quadrille. 
Whose brains, if that his tongue reveals. 
Not in his head, but in his heels. 
The counterpart of ''Dandy Jim'* 
Is all that I will say of him. 

Who next, here comes the chosen one 

Of my affections, never sun 

Shone on a mortal half so bright 

As he who owns my heart by right. 

I did not meet him at a ball 

Or opera, began to call 

At first, companion to a friend 

Who introduced, how it will end, 

I cannot at this juncture tell. 

For Ma and Pa don't like him well, 

And yet I do, and they shall see 



^m THE BEAU'S REVIEW. 

What comes if lie prove true to me. 
He comes at eight and stays till one — 
Oh, how I suffer when he's gone I 
His mind so full of pure desires, 
He charms, delights, but never tires. 
This ends the chapter : liow I wish 
Maids never did resemble fish, 
That men couki find aught else to do 
Than angling for them and construe 
Their actions in so wrong a light 
As take a nibble for a bite. 
For sure I scarce can be polite 
To some acquaintances without 
Implying lov^e not thought about, 
And yet alas I know too well 
No lady can remain a belle 
Who treats not each and ever^^ beaux 
As if the one she meant to show 
Her preference for, a sweet deceit 
Kept up for admiration sweet, 
And even now within my heart 
I feel that I could never part 
With any dunce upon my list. 
And this i)erhaps makes me insist 
Upon their coming, yet when done 
I know I'll never love but one. 



THE BEAU'S REVIEW, 



•' Well, well, as here confin'd at home- 
By rain, I'll let my fancy roam 
Among the girls and criticise 
Them, as they- pass before my eyes, 
Altho' I readilv confess. 



THE BEAU'S KEVIEW. 2;J7 

1 criticise tbern none the less 
When they are present, yet forsooth 
I think, but dare not speak the trnth. 
Now women it must he confessed, 
But differ only as they're dressed ; 
Know one, some surly writer says, 
And all the rest this one portrays. 
This may be true, yet all the while 
Each woman has a different style, 
Their hearts however are the same. 
In any country you can name. 
But as experience, has been said 
Best teacher mankind ever had, 
I here propose for my own pleasure, 
Near as I can to give the measure. 
Of any fair one I have met, 
And some whom I am meeting yet. 

First llien that amiable Miss, 
Who ne'er objects to that or this — 
Who gives assent to all you say, 
No odds, how short or long you stay. 
Bores one to death with tasteless tattle, 
Of things not worth a baby's rattle. 
Labors under infatuation, | 

That talk alone is conversation ; 
Whose mind, if measur'd by her tongue. 
Would surely kill a maid so young, 
At last when patience is out done, 
Tho' truth to say she's just begun, 
And tiuding she makes no repentance, 
Break off in middle of a sentence ; 
Say, ' Miss, I'm sorry I must go. 
Was up so late last night you know. 
That I am forced my leave to take, 
But none save you, have kept awake 



•2;^H THE BEIU'S RAVIEW. 

Myself, so long and yet ^tis true, 
I could set up all night with you, 
You talk so well., but Miss good-night, 
Sweet dreams and angels guard you right.' 
The door is shut and out I go, 
A walking monument of woe. 

Who next? The maiden dignified, 
Tho' lacking all things else beside. 
And lacking this, but putting on 
Because she thinks it will condone, 
For other weaknesses which she 
Deems greater sins than dignity, 
Or else she does it thinking it 
Creates sensation or a hit ; 
Expects to hear, of course denied, 
' Why Miss you are so dignified,^ 
Talks in a cold and guarded way, 
And never says, * what did you say ;' 
Expects of course you will repeat 
The question "till she hears complete. 
She thinks in her perverted pride. 
Inquiring were undignified ; 
You cannot launch out into wit, 
Or fun or humor, not a bit. 
Talk by the card, that is to say. 
Weigh every word you dare convey, 
Till freezing process is complete 
You leave and never wish repeat. 

Who next? Why one who would resent 

A kind word or a compliment, 

W^hose hobby is to criticise 

All God ever put beneath the skies. 

Thinks all men are ^not worth their salt,' 

Disfigur'd by a single fault ; 

Whose mind is turned into a spy 



THE BEAU'S REVIEW. 2:^9 

For faults that may escape the eye, 
The candid girl, whose chief delight 
Is picking flaws from morn till night, 
In all that she may chance to meet 
In parlor, park, or on the street ; 
And yet while she no mercy shows, 
Will not forgive the man who thrown 
Objection smallest in her way, 
Until his very dying day ; 
She loves nobody, and thereby 
No one can love her if they try. 

Who next ? The Fashionable Miss, 

Whose motto is 'dry goods is bliss,^ 

Who never would have studied latin 

Had she not found it rhymed with satin ; 

The only thing that e'er distressed her, 

That at the ball some one out dress'd her, 

A veritable female fop 

Well known in ev'ry dry goods shop, 

Where servile clerks in vain would shun her 

And all seem loath to wait upon her. 

Looks all the silks and satins throui;h 

And only buys a yard or two, 

A mint of money runs to waste 

For silkS) yet never dress'd in tastt\ 

A parent's darling, yet a curse 

To one if minus a long purse. 

I sit and listen to her chat. 

Demurely as a tabby cat. 

And never venture to advance 

A single word except by chance 

On any other subject than 

The one most hateful to a man. 

I leave her with a vague impression 

That I am somewhat out of fashion. 



240 THE BEAU'S REVIEW. 

Who next ? The female pleasure seeker, 

Whose motto, aught except ^Eureka/ 

Who lacking a contented mind 

Has sought in ev'ry way to find 

That bliss, which only one in seven 

Has ever found this side of Heaven. 

Your conversation does not hit 

Her mark unless each word is wit, 

Expects of course you will bestow 

Immediate pleasure or else go. 

For men she has no use at all 

Who will not take her to the ball, 

To concert, opera, theatre, 

Where she can study human nature. 

Expects her minister to tell 

How infants crawl and cry in Hell, 

How Heaven's gate stands open widti, 

In short, all other things beside. 

How Jesus wept and how he died ; 

Such subjects no excitement give, 

She wonders how his people live 

Beneath his plain and godly talk 

Concerning Christian's life and walk. 

At length you leave her in disgust 

With an impression of mistrust 

That you have bored her more than half 

To death, and acted like a calf. 

Who next f Miss La Belle Hard-to-please, 

Whose presence puts you ill at ease. 

You cannot say the weather's fine, 

But it is bad, she will opine ; 

You cannot compliment a friend, 

A book, or aught by mortal penned, 

But what she differs in a trice 

And savs *vour book and friend were nice 



THE BEAU'S REVIEW. 241 

Were it not for grievous fault 
That makes them hardly worth their salt ; ' 
Take any subject that you choose 
You'd find it does not meet her views, 
Until worn out with wish to please 
You bid good-night and feel — at ease. 

Who next ? Miss of uncertain years 
'Twixt Sylla and Charybdis steers, 
The cautious mortal who would dare 
To talk of certain subjects there. 
Must shun allusions to the past, 
Or else it does reflection cast 
Upon her age — a tender spot ; 
'Tis best with this to meddle not. 

Who next ? Why others I could name. 
But variations of the same, 
The Prude, the girl of period, 
Girls that excel in bow or nod. 
But I forbear and now proceed 
To single out the few indeed , 

Upon my list who do embrace 
Some charms beyond a pretty face. 

Who next ? A maiden that can i)lead 
No guilt to aught that I have said, 
A woman true, no thing of Art, 
Who has what few do have — a heart, 
A mind so exquisitely planned 
That all things seem at her command, 
A wit so pure, so chaste, refined 
Per force it pleases all mankind, 
A presence too so chaste and sweet ; 
In short, a being so complete 
You can but think and wonder why 
U 



S42 THE BEAUTS REVIEW, 

The rest don't take their pattern by. 

With her the wing'd hours fly 

So sweetly, so unconsciously. 

No sense of weariness or pain 

Resulting from the dismal strain 

That taxes ev'ry nerve, and brain. 

To edify, when edifying 

Is but a painful sense of trying. 

The social cup does not contain 

The lees, but nectar of the brain ; 

In brief, the heart's and minds' champagne 

Is set before one as he sips 

Her words — the service of her lips. 

Who next ? Of course the Chosen One,, 
The brightest being 'neath the sun, 
Whose mind is of the classic mould, 
Like heroine's in the days of old. 
Would bear the torture of the stake, 
Or rack, were it for conscience sake,, 
A modern Roland who would die 
On guillotine, than stultify 
Her sense of right, no compromise 
With tyranny e'en tho' she dies, 
Contented with the nobler way 
That only higher nature's sway. 
Her brilliant wit's incessant flow 
Like Sheridan's cannot forego, 
Ignores the jargon of the schools,. 
Resource of non-creative fools 
Devoid of wit, who would supply 
*A sea of words to drown a fly.' 
Her mind admits no common places,. 
Will not consent to join the chase 
Of childish Fancy's butterflies. 
So sweet to weaker maiden's eyes ; 



THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST. 24^ 

Knough, description she defies, 
A task in vain to him who tries. 

What now f Ah, well, to end it all, 

There are maidens large and maidens small, 

There are maidens dull and maidens bright. 

There are maidens wrong and maidens right, 

There are maidens bitter and maidens sweety 

All sorts of maidens to make complete 

A world where bitter blends with sweet. 

'Tis true there's more or less deceit 

In social circles in which we meet, 

But a little of this is not a sin 

But virtue in woman ^ thro' thick and thin/ 

For candour that borders on cruelty 

Is not so pleasant as one can see, 

And the man aspiring to be a beau 

Makes up his mind that he will eat crow 

If the dish of Fashion but sanctions so. 

The chapter ends ; I must away, 

And meet them all at the next soiree. 



THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST. 



^*A few years ; ah yes, a few years only. 
And I was innocent and guileless too 
Then alone, God knows I was not lonely ; 
No one is lonely when their life is true. 
My Father and Mother w^ere all love to me, 
I felt no fear of what I once should be. 

Ah, liappy years, charmed with the guileless glow 

Of early joys, I trudg'd my way to school ; 
No horrible phantom of my future woe 



•244 THE STORY OF AX OUTCAST. 

E'er shone upon me, but the even rule 
Of woman's life to follow and pursue, 
To love, to marry, as all others do. 

A few years more, a woman 1 became ; 

No, not a woman, but a blooming maid, 
I need not here recite my fall, m\ shame ; 

On base, ignoble man that crime is laid, 
Man who with loving, lying lips hath cursed 
Woman's best life, forsakes her in the worst. 

Ah, could my cries in Heaven no pity find, 
Betray'd by man, does God forsake me too ? 

Ev'n Hell would be a refuge to mind. 
Foul as I am and living as I do, 

Depending now alas for bitter bread 

On such as launched this ruin on my head. 

Oft, oft", in the lone watches of the night, 
When ribald songs and lewder jests all cease, 

I live my life over, searching for the light 
Of other days, of joy, of love and peace. 

And in sweet dreams my vileness all forget, 

Unconscious then my sun of hope is set. 

And yet I live in wretchedness and pain, 

Hate what I lov'd, and love what I should hate, 

Drinking deeper, deeper, that I may drain 
My cup of poison, till pitying fate 

Take me away a worn and blighted thing 

Without one tear, one floral offering." 

THE MORAL. 

Ye moralists stern who never stirred 

At tales of human wretchedness, how far 
Deem ve vour mandates are known and heard 



WHICH. 245 

Revolving in orbits like some little star? 
Men may be wiser, they never will be better 
Whose hands are bound in so strong a fetter. 

For youthful folly, ye can no pity feel. 

For indiscretion always have a sneer, 
Style all fanatics who study human weal, 

And '' bless the stars" because your skirts are clear. 
Harlots in Heaven an easier access find 
Thau ye, than ye, blind leaders of the blind. 

We know of one who leads a life of shame. 
Her youth was stainless, her young life pure. 

The fell destroyer, the dark seducer came 
With tales of love, those arts that well secure 

A maiden's ear, his heart was black as Hell, 

She listen^l to him, and in listening fell. 

And where is he, destroyer of her peace, 
Foul murderer! I writ§ it to their shame 

'Tis a mark of honor, smiles did not cease 
Foul as you are, yet still " crcmc de la creme! " 

Could not aiford to lose a shining light 

Nor part with one whose vices were so slight. 



WHICH ? 



THE FIRST. 

Is winsome, lithe and small, 

Tho' Nature had exhausted all 

Her finest skill to make complete 

A body for a soul so sweet, 

Her eyes, without a microscope 

Seem little w^orlds, where love and hope 



246 WHICH. 



Are dancing ever, like the beams 
Reflected from the limpid streams 
Of tbonght so pure that one descries 
Their beauty in her very eyes. 

THE SECOND. 

Walks the earth a queen, 

As if the ground were far too mean 

For her to touch, her brow and eye, 

Reveal the seats of majesty, 

Her sister she excels in size, 

Unlike in feature, form or eyes. 

And tho' her heart, like hers, refined, 

Yet widely differs in her mind 

One born as if her place, to hold 

With Titans like the same of old. 

Classic, heroically grand. 

Aye born to empire and command, 

While lips and mouth, and chin and nose 

Mind, will and resolution shows. 

THE FIRST. 

Is exquisitely sweet 

In manner and her soul replete 

With kindest sympathies and love. 

For all around her and above. 

Can weep and smile and sigh and sing, 

And from our souls extract the sting 

Of woe, and heal the wound and smart 

By love — the honey of the heart. 

Her soul is like her form and face, 

All beauty, comeliness and grace, 

A mind and eye that beauty sees 

In all things, therefore born to please. 



THE AUTHOR'S FIR 5T ATTEMPT AT RHYME. 247 

THE SECOND. 

Iq manner, as in form, 

Will brook, not bend before the storm. 

Yet forces in resistless way 

The heart its utmost tribute pay, 

Nor scarcely deigns to look upon. 

With pride, the trinmphs she has won, 

She crowds into, but will not twino 

Around onr hearts like eglantine, 

But claims them as a right divine. 

Ambitious and aspiring soul 

That seeks, but will not brook control, 

Which love I best, I cannot tell 

But this perhaps will answer well, 

Were one unknown, the one I knew 

Would have it all, without ado. 



[published by bequest.] 

THE AUTHOirS FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME, 



Not very long since, being invited to dine, 

At the house of a friend, yes an old friend of mine, 

To partake of his meats, his fowls and his stews 

Was hard, very hard, for me to refuse ; 

So making arrangements my toilet, and dressed, 

I mounted my steed by no means the best. 

But I'll give a description, so that you may see 

What a rare piece of horseflesh most truly was he. 

His hips stood out like the legs of a table 

While his ribs you could count as he stood in the stable, 

His ears, which were long, were as stitf as a block, 

And flapped at each step as true as a clock, 

His voice, at times, tho' remarkably strong, 



248 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME. 

Was almost as sweet as a nightiugale's song; 
At times, in the middle, 'twould gradually swell 
With a sound like the gong at a country hotel. 
When pulled to the left he'd go to the right, 
And squall just as certain as a house came in sight, 
Which set all the turkey's and guineas to squalling 
While the mules in the stables would answer his bawling. 
From this short description you may readily see 
He could cure the worst cases of chronic entmif 
But I rode on admiring the beauties of nature 
And paid no attention to the fuss of the creature, 
I was charm'd with the beauties of sweet solitude, 
And thinking of feasts when the appetite's good. 
Oh, sweet to my soul my reflections just then 
When a stump came near ending the existence of ^- Ben," 
For the steed did his rider most viciously fling- 
While a wheel of locomotion to the stumps did cling. 
The obstinate beast heeded not my commands. 
But dragged me some distance along on my hands, 
And while the poor rider was gaping for breath, 
The wretched old Mule tried to kick him to death ; 
Had one of his hindfeet but hit on my head 
This rhyme you're reading would hav e ne'er been read. 
At least I don't know how the event might be, 
But one thing is certain, ne'er written by me. 
Sir Mulee agreed at length for a truce, 
I improv'd the kind ofter to get my foot loose. 
The animal then turn'd and haughtily neighed 
As if to rejoice o'er the wreck he had made. 
Then bounded away like a deer o'er the fields. 
And my patience tried sorely while trying his heels. 
He shaped his course through a deep tangled wood. 
And I followed behind him as fast as I could, 
The undergrowth howe'er which smote in the face 
Was quite a pullback, as you know, in a chase ; 
With the slashing of bushes and the breaking of sticks,. 



THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME. -24:) 

A iiiedly of souuds did at once iutermix. 
Now mind you, a fence lay plump in the way ; 
Ah! there, Sir Mnlee, I'll brin^^ yon to bay. 

How sad feels the heart when hope disappears, 

When the castles all tumble which fancy uprears I 

I thon<;ht of this stronger than I e'er have since 

When the crazy old Mule jumped o'er that fence. 

Tho' I'de hnrdly the heart to follow him on, 

But I saw his pathway was blocked up with corn, 

I thought the temptation would bring him to halt. 

And knew if he did'nt 'twould not be his fault: 

But he heeded it not and pressed on with speed. 

Oh, how my i)oor heart was again doom'd to bleed 

When I saw that he heeded neither fences nor feed I 

Now mind you, this happened in the hot month of June, 

When an i^'^^ could be roasted in the sunshine at noon, 

The warm perspiration came out in a sluice, 

Or trickl'd like the gravy when you roast a fat goose. 

I've read in a book, or somewhere or other, 

How lasting and pure is the love of a brother; 

But, brothers or brethren, there never will be 

Who could stick any closer than my shirt did to nu'. 

My collar to my neck more tenderly clung 

Than e'er did a babe to its Mother when young. 

Soon totally vanish'd or lost all its shape, or 

Became just as pliant as a piece of wet paper. 

At length Sir Mulee came to a stand-still, 

Where once stood a foundry and perhaps an old mill, 

There I caught him again. (Great Heavens how hot !) 

So altered and chang'd e'en the mule knew me not, 

My very first thought was to kill him outright 

As being the curse of my miserable plight. 

Tho' all unaccustom'd I could have then sworn, 

But reason prevail'd, so I let him alone. 

The wages of sin shall be paid to the sinner; 



250 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME. 

I certainly thought I had paid for my dinner. 

Having mounted again, set out on my journey 

With a business air like a clerk or attorney. 

As my head came so near being hit by the steed, 

I concluded at length I was lucky indeed, 

At least in these days when so much of it's taken, 

I thought I was lucky in saving my bacon. 

Next was to surmise what prompted the Mule 

To prevent me from gaining my Ultima Thule. 

Did he deem me a preacher; then his motives were good 

In spreading the gospel wherever he could. 

Did he deem me an editor ; then his motives were plain, 

Since they fill up their stomachs by emptying their brain. 

Xo wonder they are lean and much emaciated, 

As the^' are bound to be hungry from reasons just stated ; 

For we know by experience that a keen appetite 

Is not easily dulFd when the diet is light. 

But fearing a lengthy digression will bore ye, 

And wishing to be brief, I'll return to the story. 

I deemed that my trials at length were all o'er, 

Mishap I was certain would happen no more. 

I'de forgotten to notice before I went down, 

A pair of old socks hid in my hat's crown. 

And being, as you know, in such a sad plight 

I thought to atone by being polite ; 

Taking my hat off, I bow'd as I entered the door. 

When the darned old socks roll'd out on the floor ; 

Some stared, some grinned, while a few seemed to pity, 

Considering the subject more serious than witty. 

But there I stood grinning like a young alligator 

And feeling as cheap as an Irish potato. 

Finally I took courage enough for a seat 

By a lady I thought most winning and sweet, 

The lady I talked to soon turned out to be 

A mistress or maiden — either one did for me, 

From her side I retreated with greatest celerity, 

Well knowing the effects of a husband's temerity, 



THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME. 251 

I was looking for liiiii to come down on my head 

" Like a thousand of brick," as some fellow said. 

I related the joke to a dry looking elf, 

When, lo and behold, 'twas the husband himself. 

Believe me I tell you I felt much inclined 

To give the old lady a piece of my mind 

For the mistake she made wheu she gave introduction 

Which came so near proving my total destruction ; 

But I let it all pass as a very good joke 

And concealed all the fire in good humor's smoke. 

These reflections however made me feel rather sour, 

But just then the gong announced dinner hour; 

In obeying the summons I an ink-stand upset, 

Making the marble-top bureau at once pretty wet, 

And fearing detection, that it might not be seen, 

I pulled out my 'kerchief and wiped it up clean. 

This being accomplished, I went into dinner 

With about as much grace as any other sinner, 

For a very short while all went on (j[uite well, 

To me it seemed only as a short breathing spell, 

A lady sitting next me requested the soup, 

I tried to comply by raising it up. 

But some how or other, by chance or mishap, 

I stumbled and pour'd all the soup in her lap. 

To apologize then was all I could do, 

When the married lady's dress caught under my shoe, 

'Twas a sin tc( see how muslin and calico flew ; 

I pulled out my kerchief for my face all aglow 

When lo! it became as black as a crow. 

So I silently swore most bitterly then. 

This trip is rather one too many for ^' Ben ; " 

Could have crept in a hole that a gimlet could bore. 

Or sank to a grease spot right down on the floor. 

So I pledged to myself right there and just then. 

You w^ill never hear more of the courtships of " Ben." 

But a pipe and some primings I'll try to procure. 

And smoke them and never go courting no more ; 



252 POETIC DIFFICULTIES. 

But set up a bouse which the ladies all call 
A dirt-dobbers's nest or a bachelor's hall ; 
And meditate there on the trials of life, 
But especially the trouble of getting a wife. 
But I've already taxed your patience too long, 
So I think it is high time to wind up my song. 
And by way of concluding this lengthly epistle, 
I think I paid dear, very dear, for my whistle. 



POETIC DIFFICULTIES. 



' ris not so easy now-a-days 

For one to win poetic praise, 

Since ev'ry subject from a louse, 

Or from a mountain to a mouse. 

Is duly coated o'er with rhyme. 

Or whitewash'd with poetic lime. 

One cannot sing of Hope in measures 

But that he's told of "Campbell's Pleasures,' 

Nor in Imagination pride, 

But what he meets an Akenside. 

Immortal Milton I rest secure. 

For weaker wings can never scjar 

Up to thine imperial height, 

But lower peaks suffice their ilight. 

The days of sweet poetic dreams, 

Pegassus spurring on his teams. 

The Muse, the Xymph, inspiring song, 

All to another age belong. 

This is the golden age indeed 

If gold mean nothing else but greed, 

And railroad stocks suffice, at present, 

To purchase ev'ry thing that's pleasant : 

No more, they wear out heart and brain 



THE FOUR SISTERS. 258 

To catch some bard's familiar strain ; 

The midnight lamp now burns no more 

In treasuring up poetic lore, 

For money buys all this without 

One's troubling much himself about ; 

Five dollars ^vill sulUce to buy 

A name to last you till you die, — 

Distinguished, celebrated, noted. 

Will in your praise be often quoted ; 

A monkey-keeper, vagabond. 

Whose name's with foreign title donned, 

Is call'd the eminent professor 

Or zoological possessor 

Of secrets far beyond the ken 

Of common, ordinary men ; 

An editor, whose pasquinades 

His columns every morn invades, 

Be sure is now a real wit. 

Self-made, withal, the best of it. 



THE FOUR SISTERS, 



t^OME REMINISCENCES OF THE AUTHOll's YOUTH. 



I. 

Not far from Blue Ridge base is seen, 
Tho' Shenandoah brawls between, 
So fair a spot that to my eyes 
Seems like an earthly paradise ; 
There ev'ry plant or flower that springs 
Are pictures of Diviner things 
Than roses sweet or lilly fair 
That bloom upon the earth elsewhere. 
V 



254 THE FOUR SISTERS. 

II. 

But 'tis not fields or liowers fine 
Which makes that spot to me divine ; 
Ah, more than this, since it hath given 
To me an ever-present Heaven, 
A memory that a soul might crave, 
Ere soaring to the God that gave, 
And bless him as it soars on high 
That such remembrance cannot die. 

III. 

'Tis love can change the darkest spot 
Into an Eden, make the cot 
A palace, make the bitter sweet, 
Our life reverse and make complete ; 
Tis love that gives to nature's face 
Its beauty, comeliness, and grace, 
Imbuing all with soul and spirit, 
With charms dull earth cannot inherit ; 
The pearly dewdrop sparkling clear, 
Is emblem sweet of beauty's tear : 
The tints that streak the blushing rose,. 
When first its iietals half disclose, 
Are like to those that artists seek 
To stereotype on beauty's cheek. 



IV. 



So is it with the blissful spot 
Which ne'er by me can be forgot ; 
There first my young and ardent soul, 
Then like to some unwritten scroll, 
First felt, as if its God above 
Had simply written on it, ''Love.'' 



THE FOUR SISTEKS. 255 



Four sweet aud gentle sisters grace 
This antique yet romantic place : 
Ednionia first, whose face portrays 
The brilliant mind in ev'ry phase 
Of action, feeling, and the swell 
Of fine emotion, one may tell. 
While beams from out her lustrous eyes 
Of brown, a speaking paradise. 
Ah, may she long survive and be 
As dear to others as to me. 



YI. 



♦Sweet Fannie next: Divinest Muse 
Thy magic aid do not refuse. 
Assist me now, as ne'er before, 
While I my feeble numbers pour 
In trembling verse upon the shrine 
Of what I deem almost divine I 
A lovely woman, all possest 
Of qualities to make us blest. 
Where less celestial ears and eyes 
Lose all except the harsher cries 
Of discord, agony and pain ; 
Her soul drinks in the deep refrain 
That saints on earth and those above 
All sing in chorus, ^' God is Love," 
And yet w^ithal, (not oft below) 
Appreciates a poet's woe, 
Knows that the sweetest song he sings 
He from a bleeding bosom wrings, 
Knows that his heart requires more 
To soothe it than the world's encore. 



TFiE FOUR SISTERS. 

VII. 

Dear Alice next our pen employs, 

Whose image in my mind decoys 

Our thoughts too far for us to show 

What "beauties from her image flow, 

How meekness, gentleness, combined 

Are pillars in her happy mind ; 

She, born to solace and caress 

Man's spirit broken in distress, 

Her soft, sweet voice hath power to heal 

A spirit torn upon the wheel 

Of fate, with it the innate power 

Sufficient for the trying hour, 

That true nobility of mind, 

Which tho' it deem its fiite unkind, 

Yet turns within itself and sees 

Resources there to give it ease. 

VIII. 

Now, last upon the list appears 
A maiden sweet, of youthful years, 
A lovely bud, a blushing rose, 
Yet sweeter far than both of those, 
Whose tender years give promise fair 
That Loolah is destined to share 
In all that's either bright or good 
Pertaining to her sisterhood, 
When calm maturity of thought 
Has all her features finely wrought. 
And added to the sweet expression 
So fully now in her possession, 
Those finer traces which arise 
When first some cherished object dies, 
That crops th'excrescences of hope, 
And gives the reason wider scope. 



AT FIRST SIGHT. 257 

AT FIRST SIGHT. 



Sweet Maiden from that very hour 
I met Thee, I have never known 

A moment'd freedom from the power 

Thy charms around my heart have thrown 

In vain I struggle to he free 

From Love's dominion ; 'tis in vain, 

I own, yet curse the slavery ; 
Make link by link, yet hate the chain. 

And yet I know that w^oman's heart 

Is never won by love alone, 
And still when one assumes a part 

He cannot act till love be gone. 



LINES TO A STUDENT. 



^Tis written that Athena sprung 
With power from the brain of Jove, 

And took at once her place among 
The gods uj)on Olympian grove. 

In seats of learning, hid for years, 
The student busy night and day. 

At length Athena-like appears. 

Full fledged and ready for the fray. 

The school is but a training camp. 
The world is your true battle-field ; 

'Tis there the hosts of Error tramp, 
That Truth alone can force to yiehl. 



258 'MID THE HOURS DEVOTED TO PLEASURE. 

'MID THE HOURS DEVOTED TO PLEASURE. 



'Mid the hours devoted to pleasure, 
The heart may banish its paiu ; 

But soon, in a moment of leisure. 
Does sorrow steal on us again. 

The soul immortal is sighing 

For bliss it cannot obtain ; 
Though baffled, x>ersists still in trying — 

Though repulsed, yet attempts it again. 

The pursuit far exceeds all the pleasure 

Of real or fancied bliss, 
For soon must the heart's purest treasure 

Decay in a dark world like this. 

For a moment may bliss be complete. 
When the heart may forget all its woe; 

But the bitter soon poisons the sweet 
Of the dearest enjoyment below. 



NOW AND THEN. 



It hath not been so alway ; time hath been 
When I was better and holier than now, 

Ere the drops that sparkle in the cup of sin 
Lent joy delirious, when my youthful brow 

Felt the warm endearment of a Mother's hand 

To soothe my young spirit by some shock unmanned. 



THE UNWEITTEN THOUGHT. -259 

It cannot last alway ; the turbid stream 
Of passion at length, must itself subside; 

Life hath more than one phase ; another form, 
Brighter and fairer, a smoother tide. 

Ere long, shall waft me to a fairer shore 

Where change, save for the best, shall come no more. 

The siroccoes of passion wither ev^ry flower 
With deadly breath, yet giving in their stead 

A brute existence, a longing to devour 

Our own hearts, a craving endless, tho' e'er fed 

With sensual dainties ; 'tis an appetite 

Which becomes but keener with each new delight. 

'Tis a fearful thought that all our deeds must shine 

In the light of Heaven, visible to all ; 
No hand can shield us from the eye Divine. 

For no arm can save us; great, high, and small. 
If guilty, covered w^ith guilt must ever fly 
From themselves in vain — the worm that cannot die. 



THE UNWRITTEN THOUGHT. 



There lurks a thought in every heart 

Refined from passions fire, 
A thought that dwells, tho' unexpressed, 

With all till they expire. 

Tho' mem'ries bitter as the sting 

Of death are rankling there. 
Still this celestial thought can bring 

A solace in despair. 



260 WOMAN. 

We feel it most when mercy's tear 
Awakes to flow at pity's moan, 

When others' sorrows we transfer 
And feel thera as it were our own. 

We feel it when the heart forgives 
What it has nursed in deadly hate 

The blessed leaven that can give 
A sweetness to the fruits of fate. 

Angels alone its raptures know, 

Tho' they alone its depths can name, 

Still it exists where passions glow, 
A si)ark of the celestial flame. 

'Tis this exalts the human soul 
Above the vileness of its clay, 

Whose softest whisper can control, 
And free the mind from passions sway 



W M A N 



Oh womau, born to intersperse 
With flowers the Universe! 
To thee I bring my humble lay 
A votive oftering to-day. 
And place.it trembling on the shrine 
Of what I deem almost divine, 
A woman true, if false she be, 
Xo lay nor line expect from me ; 
A woman false is both a curse 
And plague to all the Universe. 
In man we but expect to meet 
Guile, envy, falsehood, and deceit ; 
But woman's sphere alone embraces 



MONEY. 261 

The territory of the graces; 

When true, the brightest gift to man, 

The hidden source whence love began. 

Nor was it filch'd from Heaven's sky, 

But shone the first in woman's eye, 

When Eve, her Mother, first was given 

To Adam from the hands of Heaven ; 

He saw it in her beauteous face. 

In all its comeliness and grace ; 

So pure, so chaste, untainted then, 

As now, with any trace of sin ; 

For love is power to impel 

And make the heart of manhood swell, 

To nerve its arm to deeds of daring, 

To kindle hope when most despairing. 

The poets most ecstatic dream 

Is kindled by the radiant beam 

That sparkles in her lovely eye. 

When mind and soul and passions vie. 

Which scintillate with living lire. 

The thoughts that in the soul transpire. 



]\[ONEY. 



Oh money, let me .sing of Thee, 
The only genuine friend to me, 
I would not give thy meanest cent 
For all the love that men invent : 
For '' what is friendship but a name,'' 
Some writer says, and love the same ; 
W^hen sickness doth the chest invade, 
'Tis Thou that lends thy magic aid 
While scores of sympathising friends 
Inquire if the patient mends, 



•2H> MONEY. 



And when the bloom of health returns, 
The Doctor's joy is what he earns, 
Not that the soul is in its socket, 
But that the dimes are in his pocket ; 
The Miller each nocturnal hour 
Is praying for a rise in flour, 
While Merchants vent a tale of woe 
About each sale they made too low ; 
The Bakers wish mankind were fed 
Alone on cakes or baker's bread, 
While Pedagogues their pupils thrash 
Because tuition is not cash; 
E'en Priests and Prelates, now-a-days, 
Confess Thou hast some winning ways. 
Nor be convinced they have a call 
If they but learn the pay is small. 
While candidates for office use 
The vilest lano^uaoje one could choose 
About each other, seek to prove 
To country their undying love, 
Yet running by the peoples wishes 
To office, for the ^' loaves and fishes.'^ 
How soon the patriot flame goes out 
When money is no more about. 
No care for honor at this day, 
If that this honor does not pay. 

Ah, would you know a friend is true ? 
But ask him to endorse for you : 
With what politeness he refuses. 
What feigned looks and fair excuses, 
And tells you oft, in saddest way, 
'' I hardly know how I shall pay 
The note I have in bank to-day." 
Ah, should you fall in love and yearn 
To know how that your suit will turn, 
Consult your pocket, it decides 



MONEY. 2m 

The fate of all our modern brides, 
And in your favor turns the scale, 
As Byron says, where seraphs fail. 

Oh, Money, I could sing thy power 

Until life's last protracted hour, 

At last, like Sheba's queen of old, 

Exclaim ^' the half had not been told !" 

For thee are worth and beauty sold, 

And woman's charms laid out in gold. 

In vain the weeping Daughter sues 

For mercy ; she cannot refuse 

(Altho' for years she may have plead) 

The parents mandate, and must wed 

The liar, rake, inhuman brute. 

And thus become a prostitute, 

Yet parents deem that God will bless 

A union of such wickedness. 

Pause Woman! Ev'ry vow you tell 

At such an altar rings in Hell, 

Satanic laughter in the strain 

Of wedding march, a funeral train 

The dirge of ruined womanhood. 

The death of all within you good, 

While angels weep in realms above 

For crimes done in the name of love. 

f 

Thank Heav'u howe'er this world aftbrds 
Some wealth beyond the miser hoards, 
That there's some to whom is given 
*^A spirit less of earth than Heaven," 
Who live above the low delight 
That filthy lucre can requite. 
In place of love, whose riches live, 
Beyond the grave, destin'd to give 
That home which money cannot buy — 
The everlasting home on high. 



264 ROBERT E. LEE. 

ROBERT E. LEE. 



Virginia, syuouym of all 
That stirs the heart, on Thee I call 
For inspiration such as given 
To poets from a fabled heaven ; 
And while the plains of Marathon 
Are dear to ev'ry Grecian Son, 
And bloody Austerlitz enhance 
The glory of thy chaplet France, 
And England, full of honors too, 
Boasts of her dreadful Waterloo, 
Let Athens claim Demosthenes, 
And tragic Greece, Euripides, 
England gifted Shakspeare claim, 
And Milton of an equal fame, 
Let France with martial joy own 
Her unapproached Napoleon, 
Still let me sing in humble strain 
Virginia and her heroes slain. 
Her mountain tops, that seem to kis 
The cloudless skies, call not amiss, 
For ev'ry nobler thought that stirs 
The heart of each true Son of hers. 
Mine be the envied lot to sinjr 



o 



Of ev'ry fair and beauteous thing, 

Not to be found in foreign strand. 

But here within my native land. 

I will not speak of Washington, 

Since blame or praise there can be none, 

Nor Henry, whose impetuous soul 

Within him burn'd as living coal. 

Whose tongue made colder natures feel 

The warmth of his impassioned zeal. 

Whose Haming words could burn their way 



ROBERT E. LEE. 365 

Thro' opposition, and convey 

The warmth of that electric flame 

Which thrill'd the source from whence it came. 

These and a thousand yet beside 

Might fully claim a poet^s pride 

To sing them all, but time demands 

A later hero at my hands. 

The blue Potomac rolls its way 
Near where this hero saw the day, 
Ancestral trees and oaks surround 
This more to us than classic ground. 
Where oft, no doubt, beneath their shade, 
In youth, our coming hero played. 
What Art and Nature could bestow 
To make him great, she gave we know. 
As line a frame as well could grace 
A mortal, and a noble face 
Were his, and empire even now 
Sat calmly on his regal brow, 
No need of adventious airs 
To supplement what Nature spares. 
A power we cannot define 
Belongs to some by right divine: 
For titles are but idle things 
To fill the empty heads of Kings ; 
'Tis mind, superior to all. 
Before which mortals freely fall. 
Mind is indeed a spark of God 
That permeates the senseless clod, 
The more of it in man we see. 
We feel the more like God is he. 
Yet moral adjuncts must combine 
Before the structure seems divine. 
For intellect and mind alone 
Are cold and cruel, save its own 
It seeks no other good but fierce 
W 



266 ROBERT E. LEE. 

It leads all weaker minds perverse, 

Satan and all the hosts of Hell 

Still kept their wisdom when they fell, 

The fiend of darkness still portrays 

His Maker's likeness in the blaze 

Of wisdom almost infinite 

Which in him shines in all its might. 

Few are the names not born to die, 

For Nature can but few supply. 

How many brilliant wits have sped 

To graves among the nameless dead, 

That in their little day have shone 

In spheres peculiarly their own ; 

Like tiny meteors at night 

That burst and dissipate, a light 

That glows and in a moment dies, 

Their duty fiU'd — 'twas but surprise ; 

But comets in their course appear 

But once in many a rolling year, 

So is it in the world of mind 

With those whose brilliance makes us blind 

A moment, like the lightning's light 

It leaves us in a deeper night ; 

But stars there were whose light shall shine 

While empires sicken and decline. 

Such was the man whose fame must live 

Beyond all titles man may give ; 

Born as it were an age too late 

To rightly serve his own, but fate. 

Which is another name for him 

Who made the glowing seraphim, 

Knew best its mighty, vast design 

In making him whose light shall shine 

With lustre, brightening from the age 

When first he came upon the stage. 



ROBERT E. LEE. 267 

Scarce bad be wou on foreiga sbore 
Tbe laurels be so proudly bore 
As tokens of bis valor given, 
p]re clouds bad darkened all tbe beaveu. 
Tbe die was cast; no baiting now. 
Could treason sit on sucb a brow ? 
Ah no, and mortal never drew 
Witb more regret a sword so true. 
Beneatb bis country^s flag be w^on 
His early honors. How could one 
So true as be bad been before 
Become a traitor ; be forebore, 
Gave pause, until be looked within 
A heart whose pnrpose must Jiave been 
Serene and high. Let deeds attest 
No malice rankled in his breast : 
The line was drawn ; could he consent- 
To shed bis Mother's blood intent 
Alone witb mercenary aim ? 
Sought he new fields to win his fame f 
Ah no, tbe darkest of his life 
Was just before the fearful strife ; 
But, once deciding, was to do. 
So for his own bis sword he drew. 
'Tis past! and we will not recount 
The heights which be essay'd to mount. 
How, 'mid all changes, be preserved 
A purpose which he never sw^erved. 
Without one thought of turning back 
He held amain on Duty's track. 
He died as only heroes die. 
Of honors full, his deeds supply 
An ample legacy to all ; 
A model for the great and small. 
He liv'd for all ; no factions claim 
Tbe prestige of bis mighty name ; 



2m LINES TO OUR POET, WALT. 

That name no beir-looni of a clan, 
But common property of man. 
Beneath the soil that orave him birth 
He sleeps, and never Mother Earth 
Receiv'd to her a nobler son 
Than he, an almost peerless one. 
So bright in war, in peace so fair, 
E'en envy had no shafts to spare 
To launch at him, but far above, 
In peace and plenitude of love. 
His name shall run the course of time. 
In distance more and more sublime. 
His spotless fame become more bright 
As rolling years shall mark their flight. 



LINES TO OUR POET, WALT. 



Walt, tho' we feel it decidedly wrong 

For poets and painters to abuse one another, 

More so in the sacred pavillions of song 

To lightly speak ill of a friend or a brother ; 

But W^alter you know you lay all the claim 
To honors poetic this side of the water, 

Longfellow is viewing his laurels with shame. 
While Bryant and others you slaughter. 

A modern Columbus and a new world of song 
Are titles pretentious to which you lay claim, 

And one would believe, as you saunter along. 
You not only discovered, but inhabit the same. 



LINES TO OUR POET, WALT. 209 

Now, while we allow some choice expressions 
Are found in your books, yet these are all marred 

By so much that is trashy (these are honest confessions) 
Tis queer how they ever tillel the mind of a bard. 



Nastiness never can furnish the Muses 

With nectar, that dainty from above must be given ; 
An animal is known by the food that he uses, 

And the bread may be spoiUd by profusion of leaven. 

We have look'd at your features in hopes to discern 
Some twinklings of genius in your lustreless eyes, 

Some poetical Etna, whose fires must burn 
And flash thro' the craters which nature supplies. 

But tho' your physique doth set at defiance 
All claims to a genius, perhaps you are sent 

To teach us poor mortals there can be no reliance 
On any hypothesis that man may invent. 

Herculean in body, Miltonic in mind, 
A mountain in one, in the other a peak. 

How can we poor devils, so puny and blind. 
E'er rightly conjecture such a wonderful freak f 

Disappointed in this, we have turn'd to your book. 
To your volume entitled the '^ Leaves of the Grass/' 

But could not divine with the plummet we took 
To rate you a genius, or pronounce you an ass. 

That you have a kind heart no one will deny, 
Your kindness will ever be a proof as to this, 

But the eagle alone is permitted to fly 

And gaze on the sun, poets frequently miss. 



270 SUCCESS. 

In order therefore as a means of success, 

Do'nt speak so disdainfully, your wings may be leather, 
And you may desire some day in distress 

To find in a chimney a home from the weather. 

So the world is divided in opinion you see, 
Some call you a genius, others rate you an ass ; 

My private opinion, you surely must be 
A mixture of both, (vide your fondness for ^' Grass.'^) 

And Walter, besides, you^'e set up to shoot at 

Yourself as a mark, and a sensible Owl 
Who wishes to hoot suffers others to hoot at, 

Or else we would call him a very queer fowl. 

But not one tittle would we ever detract 
From that lofty opinion you may entertain Walt 

Of yourself, tho' we are aware of the fact 
That mutton and beef both spoil without salt. 



SUCCESS 



SUGGESTED BY THE ISSUE OF THE WAR. 



What is success? Does it alone consist 

In ends accomplish'd, tho' black as night they be? 

The World says so ; and he who aim'd but missed 
A noble object cannot deserve to be 

Call'd a successful man, at least by those 

Who cannot tell a toad-stool from a rose. 



SUCCESS. 271 

He who bath labor'd, tho' it be in vain, 

(In vain alone to those who cannot see 
The beauty of truth) is destiu'd yet to gain 

The riches true that take no wings and flee, 
Co-workers with God in his stupendous plan 
To raise and dignify his fellow-creature, Man. 

Is there nothing real? Are there not any 
' Who may be honest, upright and pure, > 
A noble few among the vulgar many 

Whose skirts are clear and have not gloated o'er, 
A brother's blood, nor thrust, a lying tongue 
Into his name, or done him fouler wrong ? 

Ah yes, there are indeed a noble few 

Exceptions! call them from the motley throng, 

Who either know not what they say and do, 
Or knowing, meaner still, delight in wrong. 

Success with them doth equal meaning claim, 

Tho' it end in crime or. result in shame. 



How oft we hear that word miscalPd, success, 
Ill-gotten gains by villainy and fraud 

Are winning cards, a genius to possess 
No matter how, a blessing from the Lord, 

Intellect, genius, the riches of the mind. 

Are prized by few, these few seldom we find. 



Vain hypocrites, who would that we believe 
The lie that damns yourselves, believe not we 

Can e'er for truth your knavish tricks receive, 
Say we were wrong, and bend a pliant knee. 

Let those eat dirt whose very natures crave 

Xo higher boon than what befits a slave. 



272 TO A NOTED PHILANTHROPIST. 

How more than true seems ev'ry word that came 
From RolaucVs lips as she to death was lead : 

** Oh, Liberty, what crimes are foster'd in thy name!"^ 
Thy robes are steep'd iu blood, the countless dead, 

Who in thy cause their noble lives have giveu^ 

Would form a holocaust as high as Heaven ! 



TO A NOTED PHILANTHROPIST. 



Tho' I have never pressed thy hand, 
Have never heard thy friendly voice, 

Yet millions in this goodly land 
Will e'en at thy name rejoice. 

No parasites thy spirit needs, 
'Tis joy itself and needs no aid. 

Its joy to heal the wound that bleeds, 
Its triumph when the wound is staid. 

What if titles, flattery, fame, 

Are born to some, 'twas thine to know 
A higher source than pride of name, 

The power to sweeten cups of woe. 

I know not that thine eyes shall trace 
These feeble lines, which come so free 

From out my heart, yet Heaven's grace 
Preserve Thee long, (My prayer for Thee.) 



REMORSE. 273 

REMORSE. 



It ne'er was inteiuled the body should control 
And rivet in chains the free-born spirit. 

Conquest, save thro' love, was ne'er for the soul ; 
Matter alone that meanness should inherit. 

'lis baser, more than perfidy to yield 

The mind to matter on an equal field. 

'Tis sad to retrospect a human life, 
Misspent it may be thro' one mistake 

Made ere we knew the future could be rife, 
And that results unending their currents take 

Toward Destiny itself; one little lapse 

Creates a world, miscalled in phrase, ^' perhaps." 

Who at his age would even dare to turn 
His eye to Heaven nor feel a sense of shame, 

AVho has a heart that does not throb and burn 
With its own repining, nor his lips proclaim 

Oh, God! without the mercy of thy Son, 

My soul, my soul, were utterly undone. 



INHERITED SIN. 



As 1 lay on my pillow reviewing. 
The deeds of my wicked young life, 

A thought that is e'er pursuing 
Saddened me with horror so rife. 

The sins of the Father must fall 
On the head of his innocent child ; 



S74 SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 

If the Father, were vicious then all, 
Ou his soul, like a moiiutain, is piled. 

No power in Heaven will save 
The soul that inherits the sin 

Of a parent perhaps in his grave 
Beyond all atonement therein. 

The evils that claim him their own 

Seeming grinning with ghastly delight 

At a captive whose bitt'erest groan 
No mercy can claim. Is it right ? 

But God is all love I believe, 
Tho' I die by the sins of another, 

And its import wait to receive, 

Bat not in this world, but the other. 



SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 



It hath been said that ev'ry heart 
Hath its own sorrow ; this is true, 

Man hath a good and better part — 
A Devil and an Ansel too. 



'O' 



Imagination bodies forth 

Some beams from man's celestial sky, 
Yet even there the soul is loth 

To part with, or to let them fly. 

What, then, are all the arts of style 
But trappings wherewith truth to hide 

Man in his heart is far too vile, 
Fools only throw the veil aside. 



GOOD-BYE. -275 

GOOD-BYE. 



Here ends the book. Indulgent reader spare 
Its many faults alike of style and measure. 

As to the critics, you know what critics are, 

For without faults what were the critic^s pleasure ? 



If in its pages thy kindly eye hath found 
One solitary thought which made thee pause. 

To mark its beauty, my object has been crowned 
With something dearer than undeserved applause. 



Good-bye ! Committed to thy mind I leave 
My own best thoughts ; deal with them as you may, 

And whether I a world's applause receive 

Or not, the book is written, and begins its day. 



